


Blue and the Artist

by Kdledga



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Kidnapping, PTSD, Slow Burn, Torture, canon-divergent, slight stalking, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:44:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7985578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kdledga/pseuds/Kdledga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nora is thrown into the brutal life of a drifter in the Commonwealth, making friends and allies are necessary for her survival. But what happens when she makes an ally out of a serial killer?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to state that I strongly take those trigger warnings seriously. Although it states "attempted," it is still incredibly important to me that everyone is safe and comfortable, even if your comfort means staying away from this fic. This story has been a side project for awhile, and now that I am able to upload it, I do so with the absolute freedom of delving into dark subject matters. Of course, if you are searching for Pickman related content, than those are more than likely the themes you are expecting. 
> 
> I will say however, that Pickman is NOT the character attempting to hurt and abuse our sole survivor.

Two grueling weeks and so much had happened. New allies made and new enemies encountered. Each time Nora would come closer to death, and yet somehow she made it through and continued on her mission. Even with the new acquaintances she’s made in Sanctuary and Diamond City, she hardly found any amount of good valuable enough to take away the grief. Nate would have wanted her to be stronger but Nora was hardly fit for fighting, and most of the time she felt hollow and cold.

Nora looked down at her feet and dreaded the eventual time when she would take off her boots to reveal her blistered and battered feet. She wished she had been more of an outdoor adventurer back before the war, maybe then she would have been somewhat prepared for the unforgiving Commonwealth.

Nora Renee Hernandez did her best to find beauty in the old ruins she would pass; she sought comfort in the fields of grey that gave potential to life with their sparks of purple, red and violet. Every now and then she would stop to pick edible produce and collect seeds for her return trip to Sanctuary; she imagined Preston’s contagious and handsome smile as she knew he would love them.

Countless of bodies she would pass. She grimaced as she carefully walked over the limbs and the flattened flesh of the deceased. Nora knelt down and worked her fingers through the clothing of one preserved raider. Out came a few caps and a wristwatch.  Nora absolutely despised rummaging through old and tattered cloth, exposing a variety of wounds she could hardly stomach. But every ammo counted and every antique was a necessity for trade.

The light of day was descending and the darkness was beginning to spill around her. She could hear the snapping of distant twigs and the rummaging of rocks and concrete. It seemed as if the foes of the new world were waking from their slumber and preparing to crowd the town with her right in the middle of it. Quietly, she roamed through the alleys and scurried around corners to avoid potential threats, until she came upon an old apartment complex, seemingly intact.

The door was busted, not to her surprise. It opened with an irritating creak to which she instinctively crouched down with her shotgun ready in hand. She made sure every space was clear before making her way upstairs. There wasn’t a roof over her head but at least the missing chunks of wall allowed her to keep an eye down below for any strangers lurking in the area.

It was almost completely dark by the time she collapsed on the floor. The night was young but she was not in any mood to be out and tempting danger. She resorted to eating an unappetizing dinner of mystery meat and lost herself in the pages of a few comics she had collected. In doing so she was incredibly careful to position herself at an angle where she hoped none could see the light of her candle.

When enough hours passed for her to feel the drowsiness, Nora rested comfortably on a hardened mattress with her shotgun ready at her side. She closed her eyes and hummed a tune she used to sing to Shaun.

***

Pressure formed around her mouth. As Nora stirred awake, she attempted to reach for her gun only to be met with paralyzing protest.

“Now, now, you don’t need this.” The man spoke quietly. Nora heard the sound of her gun clashing against a distant wall.

“Keep still.” The man spoke with more force this time. He began to wrap duct tape around her head, painfully sealing her mouth closed. The same was accomplished with her hands and he made sure they were kept behind her back. The man kept himself seated on her legs, every now and then hunching down to take in her scent.

“I smell blood on you.” His horrifying face was accentuated by the moonlight that spilled into the room; Nora could make out the menacing grin that spread across his face.

With every bit of strength she could muster Nora fought to push his body off of her. With no success the man kept himself pinned on top, laughing at her failed attempts at escape.

“Oh, this is going to be fun.”  In an instant, the man held into view what Nora could decipher as the shape of a blade. He didn’t make use of the knife immediately, but instead made a show of undressing her, ripping away whatever fabric he held in his grasp.

“Fuck.” The man groaned as he revealed Nora’s body, her undergarments now in view. “Never seen curves quite like yours,” the man observed with lust filled eyes.

This time he picked up his blade and traced her body with the tip of the weapon. From collarbone to navel the man huffed and moaned at every squirm he worked out of Nora. The blade made its way to her brassiere. With a quick motion of blade against fabric, the bra snapped free and exposed her breasts.

Nora could only close her eyes to the next moment of horror she would endure. As she waited for it she found herself gagging as his hands roamed every inch of her flesh, every now and then slapping the sides of her cheeks.

“What’s the matter? Not enjoying the show?” The man roared with laughter and reached down to nip at her neck, the stench of his heavy body odor assaulted her nostrils.

Her voice was becoming sore with every muted shriek she attempted. Eventually she stilled her motions and wished for it to pass. In doing so she sensed a new surge of anger from the man as he now struggled to free himself of his clothing.  

“Think you’re just going to sit there and take it? You’re going to scream for me…” His rough fingers found her hair and used it to yank her face closer to his.

A sudden sharp pain spread across Nora’s forehead as she landed a powerful and steady head-butt against the fucker.

“You bitch.” The man roared as he massaged his head, blood streaming from his nostrils and into his mouth. Luckily, the distance he had made was more than enough. Still on her back, Nora brought her knees up in preparation and pushed forward a powerful kick into his groin that sent him back a few feet.

As he struggled to gain his composure, Nora worked her tied hands under her legs until they finally wriggled free and out in full view in front of her. She paid no mind to the continuing pain tight around her wrists, for all she cared about was the abandoned blade now in her sights.

Nora hunched down and retrieved the blade, pointing its edge towards the monster huddled in the corner.

When he stood up, he wiped his drenched lip free of blood and gave a smirk. “That’s okay, I like a challenge.” The man retorted and lunged at Nora with every force he had.

Nora made a dive for the corner but felt her hair entangled in his fingers. The man pulled and retrieved her, pushing her down with a violent force, following it up with a devastating stomp on her delicate hand, disarming her.

He stood and boasted about the atrocities he would commit, about how even after she was left a mess she would inevitably be begging for more. Nora felt her eyes swell up with tears as she laid before him in surrendered defeat.

As he stood with that disgusting prideful smirk, he worked his pants down, but as quick as his pants fell to his ankles, a splurge of crimson splashed onto Nora’s face.

The man gripped at his shoulder and wailed in pain. Confused and shaken, all Nora could do was watch as the man attempted to make sense of his surroundings, unsure of where the fire had come from. Another shot sent the man to his knees, evidently sustaining another wound to his opposite shoulder.

 _More raiders_? Nora considered, and she wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or ready to give up.

The man squirmed down and barely had the strength to pick up Nora’s shotgun, but before he could steady his hands, Nora tackled him, allowing it to fall from his grasp. As expected, the shotgun landed and released its relentless power on the door frame of the apartment, sending chunks of wood flying.  

She regained her balance and dodged another waving hand, and made a dash for the first floor. Nora silently prayed that the wounded man wouldn’t be able to keep up with her.

“Get back here you bitch!” 

With a winded huff, Nora felt her body being pushed back. It was but a soft surface that sent her onto the floor, and Nora found herself in a daze as she tried to make sense of the dark figure before her. When she looked up, she saw that it was indeed a man hidden in shadow.

She watched as he knelt beside her, simultaneously holstering a revolver. His hand quickly reached out and caressed her face in comfort.

“It’ll be over soon. Do stay a little longer.” The man spoke almost with an air of formality that wasn’t commonly present among the people she encountered daily. It also seemed that the sound of his voice had stilled her attacker’s movements upstairs.

Suddenly, his other hand inched upward, revealing a blade of his own. He twirled it expertly in his hands almost in a bragging manner, until he stopped to angle it towards her. Even under shadow, Nora could see its sheen under the embrace of moonlight, freshly sharpened and in the hands of someone who knew how to use it.

 _Oh shit_ … Nora shuddered as she was now caught between two dangerous people.

As she inched away with trepidation, she felt her wrists breathe and a numbness dissipate. He had cut the binds quickly to release her. Next a wretched sting surrounded her cheeks as he ripped away the tape wrapped mercilessly around her head. Nora massaged her aching jaws, never turning away from the man before her. Not another word left him, he only turned to his next destination. Just as he requested, Nora stayed and waited for the next events to unfold.

“Fuck you, man!” An echo reached her from the second floor. The attacker sounded drained, perhaps due to blood loss. The next sound sent a chill of gooseflesh down her spine. A blood curdling scream echoed throughout the abandoned complex, and little by little the sounds of gentle thuds collided down the stairs.

“You have no need to be afraid, he is waiting for you.” The stranger's confidence worked, and Nora found herself re energized with hope. Still, she kept silent. The broken door left open was more than tempting, but she gathered up the courage to work her weary legs up those steps once again.

When she entered the room, her eyes adjusted to the licks of gold and orange that surrounded the room. The stranger had lit a candle and displayed for her the limp body of her attacker. When she scanned him she had gazed down at where his fingers once were, now down to bloody stumps. Nora glanced back at the stairs and realized what the source of the colliding thuds were.

“I’ve saved him for you.” The man encouraged, displaying the weapon for her. He was cautious enough to hold the blade in his palm as he safely presented the handle for her to grasp.

Her attacker peered up at her and began to cry. She saw him clearly now: He appeared malnourished; mucus escaped him as he sobbed; bags under his eyes; and hair matted into a greasy mess.

Nora took hold of the blade presented to her and pressed it against his crotch.  The stranger knelt down and watched with a hunger in his eyes. She noted the way he watched her attacker suffer. He was relishing every torturing breath the man released.

It was horrible, watching him grin greedily as he anticipated her vengeful carnage, but even then she considered it. Who knows how many lives this piece of shit had tainted and stolen? 

Nora watched the man who saved her. He gave her an expectant look, nudging at her arm before slivering his strong fingers down and grasping her hand.

“It’ll be easy, but please don’t make it quick. He doesn’t deserve quick.” The man whispered in her ear. A paralyzing chill tickled down her neck.

A new sound broke through, trickling down and soaking. The attacker had soiled himself as he waited for his fate to be determined. Nora did a double take at the man beside her, and shook her head in response. The blade dropped to her side, and Nora committed to making her exit.

“Indeed… he does deserve a fate worse than death.” The stranger stated as he watched her resolve.

At his words, Nora found herself pausing at the doorway. She could not change her decision, and to this she paced back to retrieve her pack of supplies and her gun. She gave a final glance at the person who saved her and spoke quietly.

“Seems like you can provide him with that fate.” Hearing her words, the wounded man began to sob and plea as she left.

Light from her torch revealed the path before her. Even as the distance grew between her and the apartment, the sounds of screaming continued to pierce the chill of night.


	2. Chapter 2

Another masterpiece completed. He carefully displayed it among his other treasured pieces.

He made a quick swipe of his finger as he recalled the man who provided the material to work with. Now this very man was sent to the dust where he belonged.

“Now in death you will be worth something.” Pickman stated as he observed the finished product. He had not made it in time to save the group of settlers this parasite had preyed upon. Not that he particularly prioritized saving anyone, but it was indeed always a bonus when he could stop them from getting the satisfaction.

He kept a steady pace throughout the gallery, making sure that every painting was presented with complete balance and left without a single speck of dust.

After this routine he returned to his hidden sanctuary and attempted to clean. Normally he found beauty in the rustic quality of the walls and the floor. This time however, he found himself at a limit with having to step over so many buckets of gore and stumps of raiders, and he knew that it was time to clear everything out to make room for more projects.

An old radio played through the set of pre-war tunes. He softly sang to the few he enjoyed, although he truthfully tuned in to get bits of news around the Commonwealth. Sometimes he would come across the accounts of local gang members displaying their violent claim over territory. Upon hearing these stories spilling from the stuttering fool at Diamond City, Pickman had desperately hoped to encounter these predators during his hunts.

Every once in a while however, there would be one story he would listen to intently:

The spirit of a hero come to life to bring about justice. He laughed at the absurdity of the tales, and yet, he couldn’t get enough. _The Silver Shroud_ alive and in the flesh was presenting herself with calling cards and most importantly, she effortlessly spills the blood of anyone threatening the peace at Goodneighbor.

“A woman after my own heart.” He teased as he held his palms to his chest. His distraction was halted as the next piece of news broke through.

“With little to no news of sightings, it seems like the Silver Shroud won’t be making a return a-anytime soon…I mean…unless more bad guys come back….” Pickman released a groan as Travis Miles continued to mope and whine his way through the story. Regardless, Pickman was intrigued and wondered if any more unique characters would ever replace and continue this new era modeled after the Silver Shroud.

***

Kent Connolly rested his chin on his hands. The old rustling sound of clothes at a distance had him much more depressed than he cared to admit.

Nora continued to fold the Shroud armor and when she finished she placed it before Kent.

“I’d like you to keep it.”

Kent was quite the collector but he couldn’t imagine anyone else continuing the legacy she had built.

“Please keep it. In fact, I can make more modifications ready for you whenever you make return trips.”

Nora couldn’t help the beaming smile that spread across her face. She never thought she would play out such a role but she was glad she did. She bent down and placed a cautious kiss on Kent’s cheek. To this he rubbed at the spot, almost preserving the kiss in his palm. A soft chuckle left his lips. “You sure you can’t stay?” Kent pouted as the questioned left him.

“I’ve got a lot of work to do, and a lot of offers. Apparently the Brotherhood is still interested in recruiting me but good old Preston has me tied in settlement affairs. It’s going to be awhile but I’ve got to ensure that our routes for trade are safe for the most part.”

“Well you’ll always have a home here. Plus I think Hancock is going to be a little more upset than I am over your departure.” Nora blushed at the thought but only brushed it off.

“Yeah… I suppose it’s time to tell him goodbye.” She watched that sad pout again and couldn’t help but continue on. “It’s temporary! I’ll be back, I promise.”

“I’ll be waiting.” Kent gave a wary wave before setting his tired head back on his desk.

As Nora predicted, the departure with Hancock proved to be difficult for both of them. Hancock did his best to convince her to stay longer, but she was stubborn and ready for the next mission. Hancock reluctantly gave up but showed his support.

“I know you can handle yourself. Just make sure you make it back in one piece, you hear?” His raspy voice was always a comfort to listen to. All Nora could do was hold out her arms to which he happily reciprocated with a hug.

“Thanks again for saving Kent. Not always you hear about people being saved.”

“Keep him out of trouble.” Nora teased.

“I’m sure he will do a good job of that himself.”

“See you later, Hancock.”

“See you soon.”

The walk out of Goodneighbor was refreshing. The path of super mutants had been cleared long ago and there was hardly a raider in sight near the town. Nora stretched out her limbs as she now sported the old blues of vault 111.

She worked her way down south, but the travels were less gruesome than she last remembered in the months that had passed. Bodies were laid about as usual, only now the numbers seemed to keep heavily on the raider side. Something permeated the air, however. It didn’t feel right, and she didn’t know if she should follow through with a retreat.

As she worked her way down through abandoned buildings she noted how the few raiders that spotted her would bring their rifles down in response, avoiding confrontation. When she found cover behind an aged vehicle she took the opportunity to scope out the area with her rifle and saw that the gangs were most definitely on guard, but just as before, none treated her with hostility when she made her cautious approach.

As she turned down an alley way she spotted a body lying face down. Nora approached it, her calloused fingers ready for whatever supplies she could salvage. Just as she was about to turn the body over, Nora took notice of a piece of paper tucked with purpose under the corpse.

 _Pickman was here, find me if you dare_. The message was adorned with a heart, the old flush of red barely visible as the blood had turned dark.

“Okay…” Nora decided against keeping this particular calling card and instead continued on her journey.

As she made her way out of the alley, she came into view of a few raiders shuffling away with intent. They had found something and it piqued Nora’s interest. She walked quietly, following their every move until they stopped at an entrance painted in bright red.

“Jesus fucking Christ, did Slab really find him?” The raider covered with a bandana and foggy goggles spoke. The second raider, a woman with a half shaved head took a peek and replied.

“Bout to find out, come on.” The pair entered with guns ready.

Nora approached the door and gave a final look at her surroundings. One dead raider was sprawled out to the side. She wiped away a nervous bead of sweat as she considered the few possibilities inside. It could be a typical raider den, and that would mean lots of ammo being sacrificed to clear them out. However, the risk may be worth taking as the men were eager enough in whatever this Slab character had found-or _who_ they had found.

 _Maybe hostages_? Nora considered and debated with herself. She bit her lip and with a nervous cough she carefully opened the door to the mysterious building.

The reeking smell of iron and vomit hit her nostrils. Nora cupped her mouth in attempt to shield the repulsive stench. Without taking risks, she brought her hand to her side and pulled out her preferred pistol-one that previously belonged to the very man who took away her husband’s life.

Every time that gun was used to save her ass, she secretly credited Kellogg for redeeming himself. But those days were long gone, and the gun had become a part of her rather than a reminder of its previous owner.

Foolishly, her misstep sent a sound of broken glass to the very ears of a raider on patrol. He responded with hostility and all Nora could do was curse under her breath; it seemed that her safe passage had ran its course with the raiders.

Nora ducked to cover behind whatever was in reach and quickly took aim at those who challenged her. One after the other they fell with bursts of flesh painting the surrounding furnishings and walls. After the fire ceased, Nora took a double take at the very thing she took cover behind:

The rotting heads were held steady on the large stakes before her. A quick observation of the room had Nora a bit light headed as she pinpointed the source of the stench that surrounded her. The artwork was nothing but gut wrenching portraits and abstract pieces that were clearly made in blood and entrails.

“Christ.” With trembling fingers, Nora reloaded her weapon and continued on, pushing back the display of carnage she had witnessed.

The journey down to the lower level of the gallery proved to be a challenge. Body after body fell lifeless as Nora tore into them. Eventually she broke through the last of the secret passages and found herself a witness to a group of raiders confronting an unarmed man.

Without a second thought, she shot at the raiders from her hidden position. As they scrambled to find her, she was able to drop them with ease until the only survivor left standing was the man they had previously cornered.

Slab fell to the ground and struggled through every breath. He cursed and muttered too quietly for Nora to hear. It took a couple of minutes, and Slab had reached out towards his target one last time before his hand hit the ground with a lifeless thud. To this Nora came out of hiding and held her hands out, informing the man of her peaceful intentions. The man smiled gratefully at her and gave a slight bow as if catching his breath.

“That was close.” The man sighed in relief, a sense of amusement painted his words.

“Why the hell were they after you?” Nora pointed a finger at the corpse before her.

“They weren’t fans of my hobby, it seems.” He began to pat himself down, ridding himself of the dust that had settled from the struggle he had endured.

“Your hobby?” Nora peered into the man’s eyes. She paid no mind to the blue and green shades of his gaze, instead she watched and studied the almost lifeless stare he returned. His hobby could only mean one thing in this scenario and Nora was at a loss for words.

“My life’s work. They didn’t appreciate me collecting their heads; and so they came for mine.” He studied Nora this time, and she wasn’t sure whether to run or to continue this small chat.

“I must thank you for saving me. Although these men surely deserved a fate worse than death.” When he spoke so nonchalantly, almost entertained at the sight before him, Nora was brought back to that night over six months ago.

“What did you just say?” The man, Pickman she confirmed, he didn’t bother repeating himself but instead continued on.

“Shall we go clear out the rest of the raiders?” He held his hand out, that same eagerness for blood lust returned and she knew for sure that he was indeed the man who had helped her. Even so, Nora was careful enough to not reveal herself to be a nervous mess, and instead opted for boldness.

“No need. I already took care of them.” This time he was the one with eyes wide and bright in shock.

“Did you now?” He gave a quick grin and reached back for something in his pocket. “I suppose I need to compensate you for the trouble you went through.”

“There’s no need,” she interrupted, her hands held out in protest. Instead he took one of her hands into his own, surprisingly warm to the touch.

“Just look deep within the painting:  _Picnic for Stanley_. There you will find my gratitude.”

Pickman turned his attention to Slab’s lifeless body but resorted to walking away. He pulled out a towel from a bucket located at the end of the basement and he wiped his hands clean of blood. Nora scoffed and was hardly surprised at his gory hands. But as she felt defiant and prideful, Nora peered down to witness how her eyes had betrayed her. The blood wasn’t from his doing. From head to toe, Nora was drenched in blood. If she had a mirror, she suspected that her current state would rival that of a deathclaw.

She didn’t say goodbye. Instead she watched him for a moment as he pulled out a folded piece of paper and began to scribble away, every now and then putting to mind the scene before him.

He then turned and looked at Nora and swiped the sketch out for another blank page, this time studying her figure. To this he scribbled quick notes on her appearance: She was a little over 5 foot seven; although she had muscle, her figure was curvy with wide hips and large breasts; her straight hair was long and black; her eyes were the deep shade of green rarely seen anymore; her skin a soft brown that barely peeked through the ruby-colored layers of human paint.

She didn’t confront him, she only turned her sights to the previous path she took. Along the way she watched the trail of bodies she tore through. Some had been brought down by the stealth of her hands; daggers sharpened and ready as she pierced their throats and silenced them before they could continue their warnings to the next raider.

The key he had left for her swirled in her bloodied palm. A few minutes passed and Nora found herself planted before _Picnic for Stanley_. There wasn’t any point in translating the meaning behind the painting, she just wanted out of the gallery.

Her curiosity like always held her in place, and she removed the painting from the wall, revealing a safe.

Her hand trembled as she used the key, her gut filling with nausea as she expected the worst. Appearing empty at first glance, Nora patted the inside and pulled out the hidden object.

 _His blade_. For the life of her, she didn’t know whether to throw it across the room or save it to sell. She tested its sharpness and with a single gentle swipe, her finger sliced open. Nora gasped as the cut began to burn. She wiped her hand and placed the blade momentarily in her pack.

Nora was extra careful this time when she made her exit. She was done dealing with raiders for the day. Eventually she found shelter in an old mini market, sealing herself in a rather large storage room.

With the guide of a lantern, Nora rummaged through her pack and pulled out raggedy sheets and folded them into the form of a pillow. Her clothes were still drenched, and so she wriggled her way out of them.

“I need a bath.” Nora complained to herself before placing her head on the pillow.

She tried to sleep but something caught her eye. Tucked away, a piece of paper peeked out from a pocket in her pack. Nora shuffled over and yanked at the note that was was stored away.

“Thanks, _Killer._ ” Pickman left for her his signature in the form of a bloodied heart. All Nora could do was crumble the note in her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for giving this a try. I admit, the tropes are there, but I personally found that as I worked through later chapters, it become a passion project, and experimenting with a ship people are more than likely nervous about, well it was a good kind of different.


	3. Chapter 3

_Saved by the Silver Shroud_. Pickman laughed to himself. She certainly wasn’t dressed up in her hero getup, but one of her calling cards had slipped from her pack. When he picked it up, he grinned from ear to ear as he unveiled a most sought after secret.

She was a picture perfect representation of the rumored descriptions passed through word of mouth and through reports over the radio; and hell, even if she wasn’t the Shroud, there was certainly a tantalizing quality to her. His stunning savior was almost statuesque in her manner, but she unknowingly revealed to him a side that was so ruthless and cunning. The thought sent a shiver down his arms, urging him to work. But it wasn’t enough, he needed more material to work with.

When she made her exit, he couldn’t help but rush after her. He had followed her through town with wonderment in his eyes, scanning her every move. Every now and then sketching quick portraits of her during her quick travel. She was endearing and almost familiar. And so he watched for any hint in her movement; waited for any unique gestures and little quirks she gave away.

There was one opportune moment when the woman was distracted long enough with her absentminded routine of looting cupboards and hidden compartments. When her pack was placed on a counter, it was a perfect setup for him to sneak the note in. After that his curiosity for the most part was quenched.

At his gallery, he studied his sketches and challenged his memory to the face he was lured towards. He didn’t know her but he had encountered her before, this he was certain. His thoughts were interrupted as a certain stench rose.

“What a shame, what a waste.” He said as he gave a calm look towards the scattered bodies. He could certainly make many sculptures out of the pieces, but he was much too busy brainstorming.

The next day came like a blur, his mind occupied with thoughts of his savior. He was tempted with a trip out to Goodneighbor, but figured she had come from there, perhaps on permanent leave. And still, he couldn’t help but imagine the possible ways to reunite with her.

What he could do for now was paint. He was overcome by passion and inspiration. For now it would be one portrait dedicated for her. Planning ahead, Pickman cleared out one part of the gallery. A single wall dedicated to the sole painting that was currently in his care.

“Another gift for you, _Killer_.” Pickman spoke softly as he looked up at the empty space.

* * *

Nora had finally found a brook that would clear away her stench. She popped enough Rad X to keep her safe before shedding the reeking outfit she had on. A clean outfit was set aside along with Rad Away in case she had underestimated the conditions of the brook. As expected the water was frigid, but she braved through and soaked her body in the water, a piece of salvaged soap in hand. Slowly, the ripples began to spread in a coat of red as Nora scrubbed violently at the flesh.

As her brown skin shined with every swipe, Nora found herself to be fighting back tears. For so long she had killed and sacrificed, but the encounter with Pickman only proved something: She had forgotten herself. She had forgotten the numbers that stacked in her subconscious. As she stared at the handsome stranger, she knew she judged him without a second glance at herself. She expected his hands to be stained by blood, but remembering how none of if it was actually from his doing, it sickened her. She wanted it to be solely his doing; she wanted to blame only him. And he had looked up at her with a charmer’s smile. He looked at her like a friend does an old acquaintance: at first wary, but as the recognition settled in, she sensed he looked to her almost like he recognized an equal in class; a murderer just like himself.

Nora needed to clear her head. She desperately needed to just do anything at all and the best place was Goodneighbor. Poor Preston would have to wait a little longer for her return.

***

It was night time again and Nora had made her entrance into the town she had considered her second home. A few greetings were exchanged along the way but rather than heading back to surprise Kent or Hancock, she practically jogged to the direction of Hotel Rexford.

The room was cheap as usual and Nora immediately settled in to the vacant room. She had settled for something warm and layered a green coat over her clean flannel and jeans.

A twinge of guilt settled in as she headed for the bar. She found herself detouring to pop in on her friends; a quick visit before finding some entertainment for the night.

Kent was shocked of course but more than happy to see her trip delayed. On the other hand, Hancock was lost in his high. He dragged Nora to the couch where he was sitting, tempting her with all variety of injections, Mentats, and mystery pills. As always, she declined.

“We’ll talk more in the morning.” Sensing the gentle squeeze on his shoulder Hancock turned to gaze up at his departing friend, a hint of clarity glazing over him.

“Shit I’m sorry, Nora.”

“Shhh you’re fine, just be careful.” Nora pressed her lips to his cheek and excused herself.

The Third Rail was rowdy. Magnolia of course commanded everyone’s attention as she sang seductively into the microphone. Nora kept to herself at the edge of the bar, every now and then making simple conversations with Whitechapel Charlie.

A beer was all she needed, for it took her back to the days when she and Nate would share a six pack on Saturday nights. Nora drank, slowly immersed in her favorite memories, and would quietly sing along to Magnolia’s songs. Seeing her glass empty out with a final sip, Nora turned to wave Charlie down. Charlie didn’t need to ask and had a second pint ready for her, but he had more to add to the delivery.

“You’ve got another admirer.” Charlie huffed before floating away to tend to a different customer. To her surprise, Nora lifted the bottle up and uncovered a folded note.

 _Care to join me_? The message was written in a familiar style.

Nora turned around and studied the crowd around. Face after face only proved to be of minor acquaintance or of no familiarity. All of a sudden, a last look had her peering at a silhouette sitting near Magnolia. He raised a glass to Nora and took a sip before turning his attention back to the singer. Nora grabbed her pint and cautiously approached Pickman.

“Please take a seat.” He gestured for the empty spot next to him. Nora obliged but kept her eyes on him the entire time. She didn’t speak and she didn’t allow herself to get comfortable.

“You’re afraid of me.” He pursed his lips before taking another sip of his drink.

“Who wouldn’t be?” Nora shot back.

“I’m sure many would thank me if they realized how impactful my services have been.”

“Services,” Nora repeated the word to herself and scoffed. “You’ve been following me.” Nora scowled away and watched as Pickman turned to his accuser and scratched at his forehead, carefully picking his next words. But he sensed her urgency and cleared up one fact for her:

“I don’t hurt good people, _Shroud_.” Pickman gave a little grin as the name left his lips.

“It’s _Nora_.” She found herself correcting. Under a fit of curses, she pinched herself for relinquishing her name so easily.

“Nora, Silver Shroud, Killer.” He listed each name with the count of his fingers and then shrugged them off as if they were all one in the same.  

Nora didn’t bother asking about his knowledge over her Silver Shroud identity. Someone like him would have figured it out eventually but it seemed to have come to him sooner than she anticipated; sooner than she liked.

“I don’t consider torturing being of service to anyone, even if you target only ‘bad people.’” Nora gulped down most of her drink and relaxed her composure this time, matching his style to compete with his confidence.

“Our jobs are the same. Every day you make the world a little bit safer with every sacred elimination of filth the scurries in your path. Mine is less business of course.”

“Fine.” Nora humored the idea only because she hadn’t the patience for a stubborn man already set in his ways. “You still haven’t told me why you’re following me.”

“I haven’t followed you…much. I wanted a little hint of who you were. Next thing you know, I’m paying respects in the home of the Silver Shroud.” He raised his glass in a toast, and finished off the remaining contents.

“But answer me this: have we met before my dear Killer?” He leaned in, a brow arched in curiosity. Nora bit her lip and held back her response.

“I just can’t shake the feeling like I’ve seen you before.” Pickman was dissatisfied and leaned back and devoted his attention to the concert before him.

Nora was almost offended at the sudden shift in attention. She figured it was best to bring to light a much more important matter: his intentions.

“Look, I’m exhausted. I don’t want to play these games. I don’t want to have to constantly look over my shoulder. What’s important to me is this: are you going to be a problem?” Nora grasped at his arm and pulled him closer. Her green eyes bore into his as she demanded an answer.

“Only if you want me to be.” He gave her a wink that made Nora think back to the days when an old high school crush would flirt with her in similar fashion. He was teasing her now and she didn’t know how to react to something not befitting to his nature, or so she assumed. It came naturally to him, and he clearly found it entertaining as he watched her eyes dilate and her cheeks sting with a rosy touch.

“I’m… going to turn in for the night.” Nora rubbed at her cheeks as if she could magically wipe away the natural blush. She left Pickman’s side in a rush, while other patrons watched and shot accusatory looks at him.

Nora waited for a moment outside, suspecting that since their meeting was done, he would soon make his exit as well. Nora paced back and forth rubbing warmth into her arms. For a moment, she actually left her spot and headed in the direction of the hotel, only to come marching back to the bar.

 _Jesus what the hell am I doing_?

Pickman finally made his exit, and was caught by surprise when he spotted Nora by the door. Nevertheless he walked over to her side and offered her a cigarette.

“No thanks.”

“Guess I shall sell them.” He pocketed the pack and looked up at the foggy night sky.

The seconds pass and it only served to make Nora even more anxious. She wanted to speak up, but found herself muted.

“A woman caught by a monster in the dark…” Nora faced him, puzzled once more by his actions.

“Tell me, even after such traumatic events, why is it that even now you travel on your own?”

Nora remained silent. He didn’t appear to have that lifeless stare, but he instead came across genuinely curious. When she caught his gaze, Nora felt cemented in place. Neither fear nor bravery allowed her to move. She studied him and for the first time she saw a gentleness in his gaze, as if he were being careful to not scare her.

“You figured out I was the Shroud before remembering _that_?” Nora finally released a chuckle; laughter often remained as her last source of defense in social environments.

Seeing how her features softened, he too released a small laugh.

“To be fair you let this slip.” Pickman opened his coat enough for him to slip out Nora’s calling card from the inner pocket. Although it was difficult to see, Nora was able to make out that familiar shape. She relinquished a regretful groan as she thought herself a careless fool.

Nora practically whispered now, and it encouraged Pickman to inch closer to her. “Well so much for covering my tracks.” Pickman seemed amused, but he had no response to share.

“So what gave me away as the damsel in distress?”

“That night…you had that panicked look on your face when you saw what I had done to that man. And just as soon as you had fear in your heart you looked at me as if to challenge me. Just like that night, you reminded me of that moment when you did the same thing in there.” Pickman pointed towards the entrance but hardly turned his sights away from Nora.

“ _They deserve a fate worse than death_. When I heard that I was sure it was you who saved me that night.”

“And I made sure that man paid for what he did.”

Nora nodded in response. A slight frown appeared as she remembered what Pickman was capable of. Hell, she was more than capable just the same but… he enjoyed it. Even so, this could never change the fact that he was her rescuer.

“I owe you a thanks, Pickman.” Pickman chose to avoid her gaze this time. He perked his head up towards the faint glow of green mist covering the dark.

“You can call me Richard.” Pickman kept his eyes towards the sky, and Nora could almost detect a hint of nerves emanating from him. There was a slight struggle in his words as they left him. It seemed he hardly became acquainted with anyone on a first name bases.

“Richard… thank you. You gave me a fighting chance.”

“And you’ve accomplished so much, Killer. I really do hope to see you again.” Nora sighed in disbelief, thrown back by his sudden wish for departure.

Pickman looked to her and held out his palm to Nora, a silent question glazed over his soft expression. Nora relinquished her hand to him. Pickman held it for a moment, swiping his thumb over the top, admiring how incredibly soft her skin was. The moment lasted but a few seconds and Nora watched as he disappeared through the crowd of the town.


	4. Chapter 4

The time had gone by swiftly. Settlements were flourishing and Preston was glowing with renewed purpose as the Minutemen’s rise to power now had a desired impact upon the locals.

Nora added another mark of fame as the General who claimed back the castle, historically known as _Fort Independence_.

She and her team had worked so hard for this type of progress, but it didn’t hold the desired effect she wanted.

Back at home Nora had found herself separated from the group, every now and then Codsworth would drop by and with a simple "for you, Ms. Nora," he would leave snacks for her. She thanked him happily but continued to keep to herself in her old home.

Dogmeat was at her side sleeping comfortably as she stroked his rough fur. Nora began talking to him as if he were capable of understanding. 

She made small chat, but found herself avoiding any serious subjects that would only bring about the pain she was trying to avoid. She went on about the people she’s met and the companions she’s traveled with for brief periods of time. But when she came to the subject regarding Pickman, Nora could only pause. She couldn't describe how she felt about him. 

One thing for sure was that she hadn’t stopped thinking about her encounters with him. She didn’t feel like she had any closure with him the last time they spoke, and it bothered her to no end.

“I just don’t know what I should do.” Nora stated with a groan as she worked her fingers under Dogmeat’s collar. A soft tap at her door suddenly caused Dogmeat’s ears to perk up in curiosity.

When Nora opened the door, Marcy Long was waiting.

“Hey Marcy, anything I can do for you?”

“I just thought I’d bring you some lunch. Everyone already ate but didn’t want to bother you.”

“Thanks.” Nora took the bowl of steaming soup in her hand and gestured for Marcy to come inside.

Marcy stepped into the house cautiously and peered around for a moment before turning to Nora.

“You doing alright?” Marcy asked. Nora was taken aback by her concern.

“Just exhausted. But that’s normal for us, right?” Marcy gave half a smile to this.

“You’re normally out there busting your ass like the rest of us.”

“I’m sorry. Just a lot going on I guess.” Nora appeared much more anxious, and turned her back so that she could set her bowl down safely on the counter.

“Is it your baby boy?” Marcy cut in. Nora turned around again, and only gave a small nod.

“You…haven’t gone back in a while.” Marcy fiddled with her fingers, choosing her words carefully.

“I know it’s not something any mother can talk about easily. But...if you need someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”

Nora pursed her lips and stared blankly at the floor until she closed her eyes to the very thing she was dodging. She didn’t like talking about what had happened to Shaun. And she hadn’t told anyone about what had occurred at the Institute. And Just as Marcy observed, the teleportation device they kept secure back at the castle was left untouched in over a month. Although Nora no longer needed the device thanks to Doctor Madison Li's Pip-Boy modifications, Nora knew that the rest of the group had noticed how she avoided anything to do with the Institute.

Nora peeled her eyes open and looked to Marcy, who was now trying to stealthily wipe a tear from her eye. Nora felt so guilty now thinking of the Longs' deceased kid. And so for Marcy's sake, she changed the subject.

“Well you know I’ve been thinking about visiting someone. Not sure if _friend_ is the correct term, but I’d say it might do me some good to go back and along the way pay a visit to some settlements and check up on the new recruits.”

“You aint gotta ask me for permission, General.” Marcy finally gave a thoughtful grin.

“Right. Well I guess I should get everyone’s list so that I can stock up during the trip.”

“Jun and I will just need the usual.”

Marcy took this as her cue to leave. Before she made her exit Nora stopped her.

“Marcy?”

“Yes, general?”

“Thanks.” Marcy gave a simple nod and left to go find her husband.

The few moments involving Pickman were not experiences that Nora was fond of sharing with anyone. She knew that the obvious reactions would simply be harsh warnings for her to stay away. And she had a pretty good guess who would have rather put the man out of business permanently. Regardless, Nora had already stated her intentions, and she would see them through. She just desperately wished it wouldn’t be another regret added to her long list.

***

Nora rubbed at her jeans as the sweat worked more nerves out of her. She was in front of the gallery again. She was definitely scared, but it was more over the fact that she wanted to be there.  

Nora kept to her manners and knocked on the splintered surface and waited. There wasn’t any movement inside, and Nora found herself still stuck out in the cold.

“Hello? P-Richard? I just wanted to…” In truth, Nora hadn't the faintest idea of what she was going to do.

Nothing developed in the few minutes she had waited. She eventually resorted to throwing out her pre-war manners and picked at the lock to gain entry. When she opened the door, she was stunned as the stench of the dead was actually faint compared to her last visit.

With gradual footsteps, Nora entered the gallery and witnessed a new setup. Less heads to display this time, and the paintings seemed crowded as they only had a couple of inches spared for space between them. They were just as disturbing as she remembered. Having put herself back into this fulfilled nightmare of his, Nora was uneasy but continued on anyways, even if she was throwing herself to the devil’s fire.

The paintings could not encourage her fully in immersion. The figures were in agony but sometimes they seemed as if they were lost in bliss; Pickman did indeed have the talent of portraying that side of humanity most turn a blind eye to. But the question remained unspoken: to which of these did he dedicate a self-reflection?

In her peripheral vision, Nora noticed a lack of darkness as the emptiness of one wall pulled her away. When she approached, Nora’s long fingers inched closer to the one painting that commanded her attention.

It was a dedication that hardly made use of his favorite crimson. It was used very sparingly as they accentuated the surroundings. Shadows were preserved for the background as well, allowing a shining figure to emerge with strokes of blues and hints of violet; she observed the complement of golden highlights and soft edges. It was a portrait of her; a likeness that was only hinted at in small details like her 111 marking, or the strokes of caramel colored paint that suited her skin tone. She appeared almost alien, for none of her features were defined; an otherworldly being that was stepping into a world cast in a menacing dark mist.

Nora was at a loss. She hardly knew if she should be flattered or if it was enough for her to be dissuaded from continuing her mingling with this world he had created. But after a moment of observation, Nora felt her cheeks scrunch up as a smile appeared.

When her curiosity was satisfied, Nora made her exit from the gallery. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forewarning: Lots of violence.
> 
> Edit: Some important moments were missing in this, but luckily I caught them and updated the chapter. Thanks for your patience.

This particular hunt wasn’t difficult, only tasking. He found that in his distractions his food supply had diminished enough for his stomach to rumble with craving.

He marched through raider territory, just the way he liked it. And he had already dropped three raiders attempting to mug him of the few goods he had salvaged.

He roamed through their hideouts where he found cans here and there. Most were empty save for a couple. He had caught a smile when he was finally able to discover a hidden stash of preserved cakes, Nuka-Cola, and jerky.

After his successful looting, Pickman continued on and considered entering an old and decimated church located down the road from his location, but he stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw movement around the building. A gang of super mutants had claimed the church as their home. Their large and morbid bodies stamped about on patrol, and their distant unintelligible hollering encouraged Pickman to turn for the opposite direction. And so he settled for a bookstore instead.  

Pickman brought up a bandana to cover his face from the thick set of dust that hit him as he entered. For warmth, Pickman was dressed down to heavy layers under a heavy coat, and trousers a bit too large for him. Settled on his back he carried his machete along with his large bag strapped to his shoulder; to his right was his revolver; and to his left hip there was a vacant spot where his blade used to be. He sure hoped Killer was making beautiful use of it.

Most of the books had been burnt while some were only recognizable as piles of ash about his feet. As he turned a corner to enter into an office, he spotted an issue of _Astoundingly Awesome Tales_ and figured he could pawn it off for a few caps.

Pickman readied his hand by his revolver before entering the office. He softly pushed the rickety door open; the scraping sounds against the floor made Pickman a little uneasy. If there was one thing he really hated wasting ammo on, it was feral ghouls. And buildings this quiet usually had a few nesting inside.  

When he confirmed that the coast was clear, he rushed over to the desk situated inside.

There were a few drawers he found worth sorting through and was rewarded with a stored locket. When he opened it, an aged portrait of a man was in its place, but Pickman couldn’t care less for the significance of this person, nor the relations they had with the owner of the antique. He quickly removed it and tossed it away like rubbish. But he held on to the silver necklace, secretly preserving it for the chance to place into it a small portrait of Killer.

The news of Killer donning her Silver Shroud image had completely stopped, but every now and then there would be updates on key settlements growing in power and influence as a certain vault dweller paved the way. He could only imagine Nora as being the one capable of such accomplishments, and of course most would recognize her vault blues as she stormed through the Commonwealth.

Even in their brief interactions, Nora had allowed him to live. She never suggested the possibility, but he recognized how easily it would have been for her to stop him permanently. Her patience was something he had come to respect.

Unfortunately, the separation from her was too long, and he found himself regretting not taking the chance of asking for the privilege of being her companion on her travels. But at least he was able to hear her speak his name; the first time in many years, and from a person much more worthy of admiration. To this he found himself changing color, a sensation he still wasn’t able to grow accustomed to. He pulled down the cloth from his face and rubbed at his cheeks.

Pickman concluded his search of the office and so he worked through the process of packing what he had found. Every now and then he would second guess an item for junk and toss it aside to save him the burden of weight. But as he slipped the last item inside, a sudden haze took him.

At first it felt like a splitting headache but a darkness had overcome him, one that he could not fight off. When he came to, Pickman was no longer in the office nor in the bookstore.

He tried to move, but his hands were secured behind a chair. He tried to shuffle his legs, only to find the same constraints around his ankles. His mouth was crowded with cloth that was shoved in and taped down to gag him. With a long inhale of air through his nostrils, all he could was work to keep calm.

Fortunately for him, whomever held the task of strapping him down did a terrible job. Pickman could already sense the ease of working his fingers out.

When his vision cleared, he saw his familiar paintings crowded together. A brief look to his right allowed him to spot two women standing and whispering to each other; none took notice of his awakened state. And so he instinctively began to loosen the ties on his hands.

“Fucker’s awake.” One of them warned. He didn’t care for their glares, and to this he gave a crinkle of his eyes, one that indicated a mocking grin.

One of them was presented in spiked armor and her brown hair was chopped at uneven length above her shoulders. The second was presented in heavier sets of armor, blunt and much sturdier in comparison to her partners outfit. Her straw colored hair was tied up roughly. As to their eyes, they appeared black and infuriated.

“I still say we should gut him and leave him to rot.” The short haired woman spoke roughly.

“Sounds tempting. I’m sure the vermin in the basement will enjoy feasting on his flesh.” The second spoke with menace, displaying for him his revolver.

“As long as we make sure.” The first woman kicked over a substance. Pickman finally caught a whiff of gasoline that was soaking through the aged floors. The blonde haired woman brought out another canister and began to drench his violent paintings.

She would glance over to the tied man, desperate for a reaction but Pickman only arched an eyebrow, challenging and uncaring. His only hope was that the most important painting would not reach her notice; he had yet to gift it to Nora. But a painting as tame as that one would never go unnoticed in this type of gallery. Sure enough, she quickly marched over and coated it just the same.

When they finished, the raiders began sorting through his belongings. Pickman soon realized he had been stripped to his t-shirt and briefs. It was of no concern for now, he only watched them and studied.

The women pocketed what they could. Some items they whistled at in satisfaction and some they mocked as junk. But soon they dug into the pockets of his sturdy coat.

“And what do we have here?” The blonde woman pulled out the Silver Shroud calling card.

“Friend of yours?” The blonde spoke and watched for any hint Pickman would give. When she turned it around, an incredibly detailed hand-drawn portrait of Nora was revealed. At first she was confused, until she saw how the hints of her outfit were in a remarkable blue. The woman peered up at a distant wall and remarked on the similar shade.

“Well, well, that’s surprising.” The blonde instructed the other to keep watch of him as she walked over to Nora’s painting.

“Hey Nance, looks like this one is fucking that bitch, Shroud.” She mocked and took it down from the wall.

“Are you fucking serious? The one who shot Markus?” ‘Nance’ watched with fury and awaited her partner’s confirmation.

“Yeah…I’d recognize this smug look anywhere.” The blonde spat on the portrait and flung it across the room.

Pickman could feel the sweat drip from his forehead now. He felt an anger bubble up as she threw his beloved painting in a pile of stakes and rotted heads. He jerked his head around as he heard a tear through the canvas, but it remained out of his range of sight.

When she returned to Nance she whispered further instructions.

Nance reached for Pickman’s machete and walked over to his side. When she bent low to ear level, she whispered back the message given to her.

“We need a souvenir, that way everyone will know: we finally got you, you son of a bitch.”

The blonde proceeded to maneuver a nearby stool and placed it in front of Pickman. Nance worked to untie a hand, and when his right one was freed, the blonde pointed his revolver at his temple.

“Be a good boy.” She commanded. Pickman struggled as Nance swiped the machete over his wrist, laughing as she moved the weapon in a slicing motion, indicating her intent on taking his hand.

To his slight surprise, the machete was brought down to his index finger and thumb. But as his relief was short lived, Nance began slicing away, making sure the pain lasted long enough for him to finally show emotion, giving them the satisfaction of his muffled cries of agony.

The two laughed and walked away like gleeful children. Pickman almost purged himself but gathered his wits and hoped that they were distracted enough for him to free his other hand.

Nance passed along his index finger and declared: “One for you and one for me!” The two continued their giggling and chatting, but soon the blonde noticed Pickman’s squirming.

“Oh no you don’t.” She yelled as she rushed over to secure him tightly.

Outside, a new sound rang loud enough for the girls to whip around in defense. Feral ghouls; lots of them. The women were not shy about the volume of their talking and laughter, and it inevitably drew the attention of these foul creatures. Soon after another unbelievable sound pierced through, loud and commanding.

“FUCKING NOSY MUTANTS.” The blonde spat as she readied her assault rifle. The other reached for her trusted grenade launcher.

“Enough bullshit, let’s go.” The pair turned serious and out came a set of matches. In unison they lit a couple and threw them to the artwork.

The fire spread with ease. Pickman watched with anguish as his paintings became engulfed. In his panic he tipped his chair and fell with a harsh thump. Soon the gallery became ravished by large and hungry flames.

The smoke is what got to him. His lungs burned and seared in pain. His vision was of no use. There was smoke and light everywhere but he couldn’t distinguish where the exit was anymore. He didn’t even notice the girls make their explosive exit as they stampeded their way through the super mutants.

Suddenly, a pair of hands palmed at his wrists and ankles, soon releasing them from their binds. They then tugged at his shirt, pulling him upright. There was a moment of struggle until he finally felt himself slightly balanced over a shoulder, guided as he fought one painful step after another.

A natural light peeked through his closed eyes. His breath was shallow but he fought and struggled for air. A release of pressure around his mouth came to him when the gag was removed. And with a desperate gasp, Pickman breathed in as much precious air as he could.

When his vision became clear, he witnessed a face contorted in terror. This woman asked him questions but he couldn’t hear them. She looked to his hand and further panic ensued.

Suddenly, a super mutant appeared from the right, seemingly unscathed by the previous torrents of bullets and grenades. It yelled in defiance and launched itself towards Pickman.

In one swift motion Pickman was whipped around and thrown to the ground and out of range of the mutant’s attack.

It was Nora who stood in its way. She began to deliver powerful shots to the mutant’s gut, only to take several hits to the face in exchange.

The mutant's large and grimy fingers wrapped around Nora's small neck and launched her backwards like a rag doll, during which she lost sight of her pistol as it flung out from her grasp and into the air.

She scrambled quickly and reached down to her boot to grip at her gifted blade. At the sight of the gleaming weapon now held tightly in her grasp, the mutant rallied and roared, lunging himself once again with fists clenched and teeth exposed.

As the two charged at each other, a new group entered the field. Grueling and incredibly fast, the feral ghouls had found their new targets. They collided with Nora and the mutant, sending their bodies to the ground.  

Nora could feel their clawed fingers scratching and piercing her skin. They were pulling her limbs in every direction possible. Some stomped on her body, knocking the wind from her lungs. The pain was unbearable, and she could not prevent the hysteria that followed.

She began to cry out as they continued to ravish her body. All she could do was slice wildly at whatever was in her sights. Little by little ghouls were dropping dead, and enough were injured to allow her to kick most of them off of her body. It was then Nora witnessed Pickman desperately kicking at the ghouls that had separated from the main horde.

No matter how many times the ghouls snatched at her hair and landed cuts on her flesh, she fought through. Finally she reached him and laid those remaining ghouls to waste.

“You need to hide.” Nora grasped at his cheek and forced him to look at her, but it seemed he was still lost to the trauma he had endured.

More ghouls separated themselves from a losing fight against the super mutant and turned their sights to Nora. But these few that remained were not to be spared by the mutant. He rushed to retrieve their thin bodies and tore them apart, until he and Nora were finally the only ones left to fight.

The super mutant cursed at Nora and flung a large unidentified piece of ghoul at her. She rolled away from the impact and regained her footing.

Nora was in a desperate position, and so she chanced a few moments to reach in to her pack to pull out the one grenade she had left during this trip. When she tossed it at her enemy, he immediately dodged it. But it was an opening Nora took advantage of.

She sprinted towards it and threw herself on to the mutant’s back, wrapping her legs around its waist and securing herself. With one arm wrapped around its neck she did her best to choke the creature. Her other hand was brought back and then driven down, slicing through the mutant’s neck with Pickman’s blade.

Over and over she stabbed until she started to hear it gargle as its blood swirled in its mouth. But in a last ditch effort it finally took hold of her coat and yanked her over.

Nora’s back collided with the ground causing her to let out a strangled cry. She then sat up only to expose her back to the mutant. Sensing this particular danger, she scooted around and watched as the mutant stomped towards her.

“S-stupid h-hum-an…” It had been too late as the mutant bled out and collided into a lifeless mess before Nora.

After the dust settled, only the licks of hot flames were left and they accompanied the soft winds that cooled Pickman’s face. He no longer paid attention to the scene before him. He was in a disoriented mess until another vision taunted him. Without a second glance, he rushed towards the gallery.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” Nora forced herself to rise and ran after him instantly. When he reached out to surrender himself to the flames, Nora took hold of him and forced him back to safe distance once again.

“Let go of me” He begged. Nora wrapped her arms around him, her swollen face pressed firmly against his back, and she fought with all her strength.

“Richard it’s too late, you can’t!”

“SHE’S IN THERE.” He cried.

“Who’s in there?”

He tried to fight, but in his weakened state, Nora was able to pull him away gradually until she forced him into cover.

“No no no no...”  Pickman rambled on as she laid him down.

From behind the cover of a crumbling wall, Nora watched as the gallery succumbed completely to the fire. She then looked down at Pickman who remained on his back.

“I couldn’t save her.” He spoke with so much grief. Nora considered his words and finally realized the source of his distress. She gave a heavy frown and reached for her supplies.

She worked quickly to clean and wrap his wounds. He felt needles prick him and pills being forced into his mouth with a wash of purified water to accompany them. Still, he only laid with regret pained onto his face. When he grew quiet, Nora finally spoke.

“Richard…Look at me.” Nora reached out and caressed his face. She then tilted his chin upward and caught his saddened gaze.

“I’m right here.” She saw that he was still lost and so she spoke once again. She silently prayed that he wasn’t in shock; she didn’t know if she could save him again.

“ _I’m right here_.” She kept caressing his face gingerly and she smiled at him with every bit of hope to bring him back.

Pickman scanned her, and what he had put into details on paper and canvas countless of times, had revealed itself in life. But this time her eyes were flushed red, a dark circle forming under one that was half closed; her hair was a mess; her lip was bloodied and split; her left cheek was swelled up; and it seemed every inch of skin had cuts and scratches. But he knew her. He knew her now even though she was covered in layers of red. The pained smile she endured for him was gentle and a welcomed sight. And before that, her anger and ferocity was as venomous as he remembered.

“ _Killer_?” Pickman came to.

“Yeah,” she responded with a relieved but hushed tone.

“You’re really here.” He coughed and looked over the wall and then back at her.

Nora watched as the anguish from his face disappeared. She reached out and embraced him in a tender hug. Unsure of what suited his needs, she still braved through and brought him close enough to feel his breath on her neck.

He hesitated at first as she brought him into her embrace. But when the warmth settled in, he wrapped his hands around her and desperately dug his fingers into her back. He breathed her in and he released a grateful laugh.

“I was only gone for a little over an hour…Jesus.”

“You came back?” His senses completely returned, but he couldn't let go.

“For a visit. Seeing how you weren’t there I went out for supplies. I figured enough time would pass…” She released a regretful sigh. “I’m so sorry I was late.”

“No,” he said not wishing for her to feel guilty; she was still there in time to pull him out.

“The raiders?” He finally asked.

Nora separated from him and shook her head. It seemed that they were able to make their escape. Pickman’s relief was met with internal rage. Nora expected him to show his anger, but he remained quiet and calm; calculating.

“Will you go after them?”

“Yes.”

“You need time to heal.”

“And that I'll do.”

“So you don’t intend to go right away?”

“Hiding won’t be of any use, I’ll find them.”

Pickman finally looked up to Nora and reached out and palmed at her ash covered cheek. Nora wrapped her fingers around his.

“Would you like me to go with you?”

Pickman wanted to protest only because he knew she would most likely try to make their deaths quick. He had no such plans for the pair. However, the thought of having her by his side, it was what he had secretly craved and he would see it come true.

“Of course.” His response was calm and yet he felt a new thrill boil inside.

Pickman finally looked down at his dominant hand and groaned.

“Looks like I’ll have to learn how to use this instead.” Pickman briefly waved his left hand and dropped it to his side. He slouched, resting his back against the wall and became lost in thought at now having lost one of his most treasured gifts. He had so much more to give in art.

Nora slid down next to him and gently took his injured hand and inspected it.

“You don’t worry about that right now. I have someone who is still paying off a debt, and she is more than capable of fitting you prosthetics.”

Once again Nora surprised him and he couldn’t help feel that piece of hope returned to him.

Nora watched him and soon found herself a bit smitten. More than anything she was grateful he was still alive.

As she sat there greedily stealing glances of his softened features, it was here she knew she couldn’t prevent what was to come. There was no going back on befriending this neighborhood serial killer, and Nora couldn’t care less anymore for the previous worries she had. He had a pull on her, and she knew she couldn’t avoid submitting to it.


	6. Chapter 6

The sounds of heavy footsteps caused a sudden stir within the bar. The few patrons in attendance briefly shifted their eyes from their glasses, and turned to glance at the pair who walked in. Their attention was only stolen for a moment before they returned to their drinks.

The owner of the business, Jim Mercer, was more than fond of attracting the attention of the Commonwealth’s most deadly and cunning. And upon these two regulars, he was more than welcoming and eager for their caps.

The two women sat down, slouching down in exhaustion. They immediately ordered whiskey and made their own observations around the bar. They were able to identify a couple of rival gang members, but they wouldn't cause a scene; not here. This was everyone’s piece of sanctuary and Jim had but one rule: No killing.

Not many hot headed raiders would agree to such a heavy term, but Jim Mercer had a way with words; and these particular words would inflict unimaginable pain, and he didn't even have to lift a finger. To his right and left, he employed his own bouncers armed and ready. Near the door, anyone stepping in had to drop their weapons into buckets. And placed above those buckets were teeth displayed like trophies on the wall, a reminder for anyone not willing to follow the rules.

The blonde woman tiredly released her hair from its ties and shook away the loose knots. The brunette to her left began to remove some of the studded armor leather from her arms and happily sighed as the heat escaped her.

“What time was Jordan supposed to meet us again?”

“Not until after dusk.” The blonde answered, briefly eyeing a handsome patron to her right.

“Jess…”

“What?”

“We’ve got to keep moving.”

“We aren’t leaving him behind, Nance.” Jessica shot a glare at her partner before setting her sights on the whiskey placed in front of her. She brought out a cigarette and began to fumble through her pockets in search of a lighter.

A hand appeared before her, a lit match in its grasp. Jessica peered to her right and watched as the man next to her grinned. To this she happily accepted the stranger's offer.

He had a lean build and his hair was greased back while the sides were shaved down to style for that SS cut. Overall his facial features were pleasant, nothing too big or small, and his white skin had a touch of tan.

Jessica relished the fire in her lungs and closed her eyes as she quietly thanked the stranger.

“No problem.” He quickly responded and turned away to take a sip of his drink.

“You a regular?” Jessica asked as she released a cloud of smoke.

“Afraid not.”

“What brings you to these parts?” Nance rolled her eyes as she listened, and downed her drink rather quickly and angrily ordered another round.

“Got a name to scratch off my list.”

“Merc, huh? They payin’ you good?”

“Oh, I’m not getting paid for this one.”

“So what did they do to get on your bad side?”

The man began to laugh and kept the answer to himself. Jessica only watched as she continued to take drags of her cigarette. 

“So what brings you here? Business or pleasure?” He switched the subject on her.

“A little bit of both.” Jessica mimicked the stranger and kept her response vague. But as she watched how he seemed to turn his attention away from her, she continued on.

“We’re heading west. Our name we scratched off is actually worth a bit of caps.”

“Local celebrity gets killed, huh?”

“He was a god damn psycho that’s what he was.” Nance interjected. Jessica turned to Nance and felt rather encouraged to tell the story.

“You’ve ever heard of Pickman’s gallery?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Fucker hunted people like us for a living. This sick bastard tortured everyone. Cutting them up-”

“-and displayed their body parts as ‘art.’” Nance completed the sentence and turned her attention to the man.

The man was quiet for a moment, perhaps disturbed but he made sure not to let any hint escape him. After a few seconds of contemplation, he began to laugh.

“Impressive. Seems to be the trend lately; all these vigilantes running around.”

“This guy…he would get a kick out of the gore. He was practically hard for this stuff.” Jessica raised her voice but quickly quieted down once she saw one of the bouncers inch closer to her.

“I don’t see why anyone is surprised when people like this guy pops up. Sooner or later, we all get ours.”

“You growing a conscience, merc?.” Nance accused.

“No harm in admitting that what we do will come around eventually.” The man was still smiling away seemingly amused with his response. He then leaned in and whispered.

“So how’d you do it?”

“Very carefully.” Jessica sounded annoyed but it did not dissuade the man from continuing his chatter.

“So you’re headed out west. You thinking of stopping by ol’ Henry’s for a stay? He is a fellow supporter like Mr. Mercer here- _aint that right Jimmy_?”

“That’s about all we have in common. Henry can appreciate that extra weight you carry in those pockets of yours.” Jim grinned before turning his attention away from the man.

“I thought you said you weren’t a regular here.” Nance crossed her arms and gave Jessica a worried expression. Jessica exchanged the same mannerisms and watched as the man kept calm.

“I only stop by a couple of times a year.” The man turned to Jim who was eyeing all three of them, but soon confirmed to both Jessica and Nance of the truth in the statement.

“Whatever.” Jessica felt a bit disappointed. She rather hoped to enjoy his company a little more but he was proving to be out of her range of tastes. She never trusted anyone and she knew there was something off about him.

“You ought to take this man’s advice and stop by Henry’s little business he has. Feeds ya, cleans your clothes and hell- he even has a talent for fixing any weapons and providing modifications.”

The two women sat and considered their options, but seeing how their travels would be long and grueling, they figured another stop without clearing out someone’s house for once would be a welcome and easy step.

“Fine, where’s it at?” After that, both the man and Jim gave their directions. Both Nance and Jessica listened carefully until another sound of the door swinging open caught their attention. It was another raider they had no business with.

“Well, looks like I’m about out of time for now. Got a client to please.” The man excused himself from both his old a new acquaintances.

When he exited the bar, Nance turned to Jessica and shot another glare.

“Did you really have to eyeball him when we sat down?”

“What? I aint going to pass up a good time if it’s made available.”

“Well obviously that was a failure.”

“Who gives a shit at this point, at least we got ourselves a meal ticket.” Jessica waved the piece of paper that contained the directions at Nance, who then snatched it away teasingly.

***

The man from the bar walked calmly to his destination. After following a set of painted clues, he finally stopped to take in the view of the camp sight. He saw the light of a fire pit and took in the smell of roasted meat. He then proceeded to follow it, until the snap of a twig caused him to jerk back in surprise.

When he looked to his left, he noticed a woman dressed in a vault jumpsuit, covered in heavy pieces of armor. In her arms she carried wood to feed the fire. When she looked to him with her big bright eyes, he then removed the wig piece and lifted his sunglasses and greeted her.

“Well, _Charmer_ , I think you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

All Nora could do at that moment was drop her resources and rush over to hug her friend.

“ _Deacon_.” Nora held on tightly, and he just about lifted her off the ground, equally delighted for the reunion.

“Hey sis.” Deacon plopped her back down and reached out to squeeze her cheek. Nora winced for a moment and then returned the gesture with a little more force. Indeed they were close like family but just as siblings do, they bicker… a lot.

And after they caught up with their share of news, it only worked to bring about a bit of hostility between the two, seeing how Nora devoted more time to the Minutemen than the Railroad.

“Listen, at some point you’ve got to stop dipping your hands in every group out there.”

“How do you think I earned my name?” Nora gave a slight sarcastic shrug before continuing.

“Listen, Deacon…I don’t know how to tell you this but…I have access now.”

“Access?”

Nora took one long breath before coming clean. “To the Institute.”

“Jesus, Nora. Were you ever going to tell us?”

“Absolutely. But the thing is…it’s my boy. I saw Shaun but…”

“If you’d had come to us sooner we would already be on track to saving more lives, including Shaun’s.” Deacon paced back and forth visibly flustered at the pour of information.

“No, he’s alive but it’s just... I don’t know if I can help him.”

“So you have all this on the line, but you have me tracking raiders for you. _Raiders_ , Nora, not the Institute- which is what we should be concentrating on. And you’re doing it for that _lunatic_?” Deacon practically yelled but stopped himself when he saw Nora’s frightened expression. He rarely showed his anger to her.

“So where is he?” Deacon looked to the camp sight and wondered why the man hadn’t shown himself.

“He's still healing. And those pain meds I gave him knocked him out.” Nora looked over to where she knew he was resting and was visibly concerned.

“Nora please, can you just stop this? We can start planning now, and make up for lost time.”

“It’s too soon.”

“How is it too soon? We’ve got people inside needing our help, Nora.”

“I don’t know if I can face him again.”

“You’re his _mother_. It’s what you’ve been fighting for this entire time.”

Deacon began to ramble on about their cause. He was adamant about setting up a plan with Desdemona back at the Railroad, but every time he tried to convince Nora, she would interject with a plea of his name.

“-Holding on to this device when we’re working our asses off-”

“-Deacon. Please just listen.” Nora was finally able to quiet him down.

“Shaun _is Father_. My baby boy is the leader of the god damn Institute.”

“What? They have a kid leading the institute?”

“No, he isn’t a child anymore. He is older than me...physically. It seems he was kidnapped for a much longer time than I could have ever imagined possible. The old man claims he is my son. And trust me I still can’t wrap my head around it.”

“Christ, Nora. And what’s to stop him from lying about that?”

“Nothing at all. But the thing is, if it is him, then I can’t blame him for being distant. He doesn’t know me. He didn’t grow up knowing anything but those who raised him at the Institute. And so I can’t blame him for not having that type of love for me. And still, he did say he wanted to try and get to know me; to learn a little about what he missed out on had he been raised by me. But of course the one and only catch is that he expects me to join them if I wish to get closer.”

“I guess adding double agent as one of your titles is out of the question?” Nora fought her urge to smile, and grimaced at Deacon who always had time to joke.

“I can’t rule that out in all seriousness. But right now, I can’t face him because I’m so scared. I’m so fucking afraid that if he _is_ my Shaun, then what’s to stop you guys from hurting him if I lead you to the Institute? I don’t know if I have the strength for that.”

“Nora, I wouldn’t wish anything like that on you. But you have to understand why we need you more than ever now. So you’re avoiding your son- fine. But why are you doing it with _him_.”

Nora turned once again to the direction of the camp and pursed her lips. She looked down and kicked the rocks that laid about her feet.

“To be honest I’m not really sure either. He saved me once. And then we crossed paths again. And somehow we keep getting knee deep into shit, but in the process we have been helping each other out. I don’t know, Deacon. You should have seen him last time…he was scared. I didn’t think anyone could get to him.”

“And to think I had to find out about him from those two chicks at the bar.” Deacon began pacing again until he came to a stop and furrowed his brows in concern at Nora.

“I’m sorry. I just don’t want anyone manipulating you. And more than anything I don’t want anyone hurting you.”

He reached out and pointed to Nora’s face that remained a bit swollen with purple and yellow from the previous battle.

“If my absence hasn’t clued you in on my stubbornness preventing me from being pulled permanently to other groups like the Railroad and the Brotherhood, than I don’t know what else to say.” She spoke gently and with a little humor. “I know where the line is, and he isn’t going to change me for the worse.”

“Maybe. But you can’t change someone like him.”

“That never crossed my mind as a possibility.”

Nora rubbed at her temples in frustration. Deacon was right for the most part. But just as she stated, she wasn’t ready to charge in to the Institute. She was afraid that her poor judgment towards her friends and Shaun might cost many lives in the process. To add to that, she just flat out refused to admit out loud to Deacon that there was a spark between her and Pickman. Whether it was fascination between two different personalities or whether it was simply attraction, she wasn't completely clear on those facts. 

“I just need a little more time to clear my head; and yes, to help him as well. I know you hate it, but I’m not one to ask for permission, only your understanding-”

“-Alright, alright, Charmer. I know I’ve been pushing your buttons.” Deacon reached out and playfully jabbed at her belly, to which she yelped out in surprise.

“Just please, if you do decide on the next step, at least fill me in. Whether you want us involved or not, I just want to know that you won’t turn your back on those people in there.”

“Of course.”

“Here.” Deacon reached into his pockets and handed out the information he gathered on Jessica and Nance, with the directions to the raider hotel included.

“Your two raiders will soon turn into three. Who knows how many they’ll meet up with along the way?”

“Much appreciated. And now my turn.” Nora reached into her bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

“Perfectly preserved, just for you.”

“What a coincidence did you know it’s my birthday today?”

“Shut up.” Nora pushed at his shoulder and returned to her pack and this time she pulled out a key.

"* _Ten hermanito_ , don’t say I didn’t give you anything.”

Deacon took the key and grinned. He knew exactly which safe Nora had stored away for him, and if she was giving him that, he knew there was something beyond useful in there.

Both exchanged hugs before departing. But as Deacon continued on his trek away from Nora, he couldn’t help but give one last glance back at her. He was tempted to watch over her, and he had more than enough disguises to do so, but he knew in his heart that although she was indeed the most stubborn woman he had met, she was doing what she felt was right for her. For now, it was enough to settle his worries in the meantime. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delayed upload. Also I'm sorry for the lack of Pickman in this chapter. 
> 
> *Translation: Ten hermanito- For you/ take it, little brother


	7. Chapter 7

The days of travel were calm. Pickman was rather quiet most of the time, most likely a side effect from the meds that worked to soothe the pain in his hand. At first, Nora would mimic the same silent demeanor, and only talked when it was absolutely necessary. But as she grew accustomed to his presence, she would find herself talking and ranting to him about anything that crept her thoughts.

Any past missions that required tracking always had a bit of paranoia attached to it, for losing sight of her targets was always a hassle. But with Deacon’s help, Nora hadn’t a sweat of worry, fully aware of their next destination. Although the path they took was rough in that once in a while, the raiders had claimed victims along the way. Nora was at least able to breathe a sigh of relief when she encountered one traveling merchant who was able to hold their own against the trio, and it allowed them to confirm that the third party member was indeed a male in his twenties.

As the sun began to descend, Pickman and Nora immediately searched out a spot to camp for the night. They set up traps around their perimeter and kept all of their weapons in view. And when all of their standards for safety were met, they calmly passed the evening with full bellies and restful naps to earn them plenty of energy for the hunt.

Pickman had now every bit of time he wished for with his Killer, and in that time, he was able to learn more about her.

He learned of her slumber that allowed her to travel through time. At first he was in denial for the fact that she was over 210 years old, but when she started talking about her past- her sweet and envious home life, Pickman was at a loss for words.

Eventually he earned the answer to his old question- that she traveled alone only because some former companions had other missions to devote their time to, while others were working hard to improve their communities. Besides Deacon, she was incredibly home sick for a chance to see Codsworth and Dogmeat. But as Sanctuary grew, she wanted Codsworth to be back at home where she trusted that his generosity would boost morale for Preston and the gang. Truthfully, she was a bit selfish over the matter, for she secretly wanted to keep him safe with Dogmeat, because he was one of the final links to her past. He was family, and she wouldn’t risk losing him too.

He observed that she was a rather good shot when it came down to scoping and eliminating enemies. Her skills with his most precious blade however, were still rather amateur and Pickman had an urge to provide her with the necessary lessons.

Nora peeked over at Pickman as she sat and cleaned her gun. He had a question or complaint waiting for her, and she wondered when he would finally hurry up and be out with it. Instead, he bided his time, twirling his old blade in his left hand, going over some silent routine. And when he caught her notice, he finally spoke.

“Nora, come here. I want to show you something.” Nora gave a huff of protest at first, but worked a lazy stride over to his side. Pickman, cautious as ever, handed the handle out for her to grab. He positioned himself behind her where he could easily maneuver her.

Now in the role of a teacher, he went over moves that would help her avoid aggressive strikes from the enemy. He taught her points and arteries for her to slice and drive the sharp blade into, although many of those particular pointers were already common knowledge for Nora, she still respected his lessons and worked to improve the techniques for these areas.

She worked every twisting motion for him to inspect and correct. As the hour passed, he watched and adjusted until she finally began to show progress. He was rather flattered at her attention to detail, always asking questions; a very studious pupil indeed. And when Nora began to feel an overwhelming sweat down her back, she took a pause to sit down and allowed herself a well-earned break, one that Pickman had no intention of arguing over. 

As she laid with her hands out, feeling the warm kisses the flames produced, Nora took this moment to breathe in the roasted wood smell. A small ache accompanied her at her shoulder. When she worked her steady fingers into a massaging motion, she couldn’t help but complement his skill.

He took it with a stride of passion and pride. He was more than happy to accept these small exchanges of complements, and for once he felt that little tickle in his stomach, the one that allowed him to finally see how blooming friendships grew. Nora noticed that shy smile that spread from ear to ear and she found herself caught in its contagious influence. Nora sighed in relief, allowing her shoulders to slump.

“I’m beat.” Pickman turned to her and waited for her to say more; there was always more.

“Jeez Richard, you really worked me. Thank god you’re on my side.” She gave a friendly nudge to his side as he sat down to join her. He looked quizzically at her elbow that briefly dug into his side. Nora was always so comfortable with touching. It seemed Pickman didn’t hate it, but Nora had always the tendency to forget the personal bubbles that people secured and protected. It was just so hard for her when someone like Hancock or Deacon quickly humored her and embraced her habits.

Nora grew up with a family who exchanged hugs and kisses without a worry in the world. Everyone was open to accepting strangers into their home life, and they were always incredibly charitable. And when Nate came into the picture, Nora just about died laughing when he was so fidgety and awkward when he had to greet (with the ritual of hesitant hugs and air kisses) every single family member present in Nora’s home. Sometimes there were about thirty or more in attendance for these gatherings.

And Nora could tell now that Pickman was experiencing his little piece of culture shock with Nora. And still, he slouched down and relaxed himself, perhaps contemplating her manners and merely letting them slide. Nora was almost ready for an apology, but then she remembered that this was the same man who enjoyed wrapping his fingers around hers when encouraging her violent nature. No, he didn’t mind the contact but perhaps he was still at a loss for everything in between. The pieces that communicated much more than obsession and lust. Pickman spoke gratefully enough for her to save the subject for another time.

“I’m glad I’m on your side too.”

Nora grinned and directed her attention to her weapon. She brought the blade back up for her to inspect, which only further encouraged Pickman to give her advice on the subject. He eventually scooted closer as he was in deep explanation over more clever and stealthy methods. But when he placed the blade down and angled it on Nora’s exposed thigh, she couldn’t help but gasp at the cold contact.

“Sensitive, are we?” He teased with that devilish grin and Nora felt herself slouch in embarrassment.

“It’s cold!” But the truth was, it was the brief contact of his hand on her skin that caught her more by surprise.

Pickman shook away the sight of her trembling, and continued on with his lesson. But Nora was lost in thought for a moment until she finally expressed her concern over the night of her attack, and wondered what she could have done differently. To this, Pickman listened as she hesitantly recalled to him those moments before he intervened, and it was then that he was finally able to share his knowledge.

As he explained, Nora was shocked to discover how much knowledge he had with wrestling.

“For most people it comes as second nature; for those of us who grew up in this time. I’ve had more than my fair share of people pinning me down and lashing out with everything they had.”

Pickman rubbed at his forehead, a lingering memory that she suspected was making him uncomfortable. She couldn’t imagine Shaun growing up like this, and truthfully he didn’t; the Institute made sure of that.

“Luckily, this is the worst I’ve received.” Pickman peered down at his bandaged hand and gave a slight grin.

“Luckily? Those assholes took your fingers as souvenirs.” Nora yanked at her shirt collar, as if to compose the anger now built up in her finger tips.

“And my Killer is going to gift me with new ones.” He smirked again and Nora could only grimace as she was not fully accepting of his resolve over the issue.

He instinctively traced down her thigh with his blade only to catch himself. He looked up at Nora who peered at him with those gorgeous green eyes. When his eyes returned to the steady blade he kept at her flesh, he became intent with sheathing it when he noticed how Nora began to spread her legs.

It was suggestive, but Pickman was worried he was reading too much into this gesture. But a stolen glance at her chest further fed into the fantasy, as her breasts rose with rapid intakes of air.

A gentle hum left Pickman. He surveyed Nora, a question forming on his lips.

Nora watched with as much intensity as he did. She began to bite down on her lip and watched for any move. But it was then that she realized that electricity between them.

_I must be outta my damn mind_. Nora was ever so tempted to pull him to her body, only she couldn’t find the strength to do so. Was it fear? Or was it guilt?

Nora then sat upright and tugged at her clothes as if to shield herself from those thoughts. Pickman took the hint and stood up to return to his spot across the fire pit. And with him was the blade, so that he may resume his mindless twirling.

Nora studied him. He was ridiculously impressive with that knife. But she noticed that his eyes were not as tense but rather almost wide with worry. Every now and then he would stop and take a moment to rub at the back of his neck. And when he resumed his practice, there was clearly a lack of extra care for the precision of his moves. And then it happened. Such a small matter, but it was almost as if the world around them came crumbling down. The blade slipped from his grasp and fell into a cloud of dust at his feet. He was distracted alright.

He gave a nervous cough before retrieving the weapon. He looked to Nora for a split second until he turned back to wiping the blade on his jeans.

Nora sat and looked for any diversion. But as the darkness continued to swallow their surroundings, Nora almost felt that resorting to sleep would be sufficient enough to end the awkward tension between them. But when she considered her options for passing the time, she was reminded of something.

Nora turned to her pack and began sorting through her belongings, until she finally pulled out her own set of papers she had saved.

Nora used the papers to fan herself as she was still heated up from the unspoken advances she was considering, and when she gathered her courage, she walked over to Pickman and handed them over.

“Here.” Pickman looked up at her and then at the papers.

When he took them, he saw that they were rough sketches of flowers. When he switched out the first page, it was more of the same but as the few pages developed, some had more petals to fill up the paper.

“I’m not very good, but I needed something to do while you were out and asleep.”

“Flowers?”

“They’re lilacs. I don’t know, it seemed to be the only thing I could keep busy with…”

He switched between her pieces again and traced the lines with his unbandaged fingers.

Over and over he would outline her work. He revealed the imperfect ones among the ones she managed to keep the same. He found it rather fascinating to see how she translated her world into such simple forms of life. In them he saw boredom and contemplation. In others he saw determination as the pencil was marked heavier, or the shading was a little more present.

And she wasn’t lying, she was not making a mark of fame with these sketches, but they were still intriguing.

When he flipped one page over, he saw a few failed and half-finished attempts at drawing a German Shepherd.

“Dogmeat.” And under it she scribbled out her name over and over again. “Nora R. Hernandez.”

“Mrs. Hernandez... I wonder what name they will choose when they build a statue in your honor?” Pickman was teasing her, and Nora took it upon herself to shuffle next to him, complete relief washed over her as she greeted his dangerous smile once again.

“That’s my lil’ Dogmeat. Maybe I’ll introduce you, if you’re good.” She switched subjects and instead attended to her silly portraits of her "baby" she missed being cuddled up against.

“If I'm good, you say? Well that'll be a challenge seeing as how I like to misbehave.” He answered quickly and gave a small laugh.

“Ugh huh, I'd call it a little more than misbehaving.” Nora answered sarcastically.

“You’re very brave, talking to a monster in that tone.”

“Hah! Where is this monster you speak of?” Nora shifted around as if to search for some mysterious creature.

Suddenly, she felt her jaw being gripped. His left hand turned her towards him, and he stared at her expectantly. He seemed a little defensive, as if to say that his self-awareness was not to be denied or simply brushed aside.

Nora reached up and gently traced his knuckles and watched him. She didn’t feel threatened, and she rather liked feeling this sort of skin ship.

Taking her gesture as a cue, Pickman then began thumbing her lips, tracing their softness. Every now and then he would apply a little more pressure into the circles he formed on her flesh. Nora closed her eyes and sighed as he continued to explore her.

And then he separated his touch from her. Nora peeled her eyes open and saw that he was looking down at her drawings.

“Will you let me draw you?” He asked as if it were the first time he attempted such a task.

“Of course.” Nora furrowed her brows and was rather confused. She wanted to say that he was unpredictable, but Pickman stopping at a moment’s notice to tend to his work, really shouldn’t have caught her by surprise. And now she wondered how in the world he would be able to draw her. She shrugged her shoulders and suspected he was going to practice, just like he said he would. 

But all Pickman did to permanently seal her lips of their curiosity was how he moved from his seat on the log, to the ground. And this time he began to draw her likeness into the dirt.

Nora clenched at her chest. He seemed so innocent in this moment. But even so, she began to feel the wrinkles form at her forehead. She knew that he was infatuated with her, but it sadly seemed to only go skin deep. Nora felt he cherished the idea of her, but was honestly unsure if he would ever witness and understand how imperfect and flawed she was. And she felt that dread as she questioned- for whatever time they had remaining- if he would be able to see her without seeing that goddess he paints over and over again. 

Nora squeezed a little tighter at the fabric over her chest.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Jessica gave a howl of a laughter. She greedily gathered her winnings, and swiped her caps over to her pile. And in between chatter and puffs of her cigarette, she felt herself give a heavy frown. It only escaped for a moment, but she watched for any notice that Jordan or Nance might have taken. And they didn’t, they were too busy cursing and ranting over her talents at the game. Even so, this was a rare moment to take part in.

Out of the three sitting at the table, only Jordan could recall the exact moment when he saw these two women truly laughing and enjoying themselves. The last time was about five months prior, and it was when they were all camped out on a hill overseeing a settlement they were staking.

They took the time to share bottles of liquor, watching a surprisingly clear night full of vibrant stars. In their drunken stupor, Jordan and Nance were wrestling and attempting to best the other. Jessica in the meanwhile laid down to peer up at the sky and quietly sang, a hidden talent she hardly allowed anyone to witness. It was one of his favorite moments, and here they were finally reunited and ready to take on the rest of the world after they claimed their hard earned caps from their boss. Well, he knew very well it was the girls’ hard earned caps, but they were never the type to hold any rewards from him. 

The hotel proved to be accommodating. The setting wasn’t as different from the small bar Jim Mercer ran. A notable difference was that Henry Roy wasn’t one to care too much if one raider decided to settle a grievance with blood shed. Although it surprisingly rarely happened, and that was because everyone there had found the kind of rest, relaxation, and diversions that they often struggled for outside the aged walls. But Henry was indeed a greedy bastard, and the room they agreed to shack up in together cost a pretty cap. And if it wasn’t for the pay they were expecting, they’d just as soon go and find a house to raid. Luckily, any weapons modifications and repairs were done for free, and food was plentiful.

And here Jessica was, stressing away silently while she watched the creases on both Nance and Jordan disappear, rewarding them with their true youthful appearances.

Jordan was smart, the kind of smart that was a product from him growing up around books his parents struggled to collect. But he was not a stranger to the rough lifestyle outside of his home life. And it just so happened that Jordan had a bit of a hobby for pick pocketing, and that landed him at the mercy of Jessica’s fists. He almost got the best of her, and that was enough for her to pause and show the kid some interest. Ever since then, he tagged along like a lost pup, ever so eager to impress her and ever so eager to prove his worth; to prove that he had more guts than anyone stepping up to the challenge. Even so, Jessica would be the first to tell anyone that Jordan didn’t belong with the gang, but she couldn’t see their group without him.

And then there was her other best friend, her sister Nancy. Nance, as she preferred, was rough inside and out, and it proved true when she hardly paid any bit of remorse to the thought of Jordan’s potential being spoiled by having him join the gang. She had a proud sense of corrupting him.  

But the trio always worked well through their struggles; always found their living by taking and killing. Until the unthinkable occurred: Pickman showed up and had his sadistic fun.

Jessica will never forget the sight of a man so fearless of death as he marched in to their hideout and snagged a new recruit. In doing so, he gave the impression of a hostage situation. And in their struggle to comprehend the events that had unfolded, Pickman shot in all directions, forcing everyone into cover while he walked without a scratch, his new victim struggling under his grasp.

Ever since then, the rumors along with truthful testimonies, told stories of this grim reaper, but Jessica was hardly a coward in the face of death. When she heard what had happened to Slab and his group, it was then that she knew they had to be smart and they had to be careful.

They bribed and hired their scouting groups throughout until finally one bit of information came back to them as a hit. Soon after they stalked the man in a guise as a lone drifter.

But a part of Jess regretted not taking quicker measures for his death. She just couldn’t help her patient nature. And this man didn’t deserve the mercy of quick. She wanted to cut off more; she wanted everyone to have a piece of the bastard who terrorized her group. She’d be damned to let anyone intimidate the group she worked so hard to carve a valuable reputation that allowed everyone to recognize their true threat of power.

And here she was, grinding her teeth in frustration as she considered the thought of his possible escape. Still, she fought for the comforting thought that if the smoke didn’t claim him, the flames would have.

A sudden snapping of fingers brought Jessica back at attention and Nance couldn’t help but jest.

“Alright old woman, get your shit together, we’re earning back our worth.”

 _Our worth_?

Jessica had wondered what their folks would have thought of them now. They were raised in this lifestyle, but her mother and father had met their demise when she was eleven and Nance was eight. They cried endlessly, but they now hardly gave a single mention of their names. Too much had happened, and too much had been lost. The only thing they had of theirs was the name Docherty.

“Easy now, she can’t help being deaf in her old and wise years.” Jordan snorted as his teeth bared down on the cigar in his lips.  

“Oh sure, asshole. When you get to my bright age of twenty-nine, I’ll get you a nice cane.”

“Can you modify it with a hidden knife please?”

“If you want to keep your teeth, I'd be careful of asking for too much.” Nance warned teasingly as she distributed the cards out again.

The evening passed with both celebrations and lost money. And as they were reaching their point of limit for consciousness, there was a tap at their door. 

***

Luck it seemed, had slipped from such careful hands and into to the hands of the lifeless bodies occupying the room. The luck these corpses had received were all but what people often hoped for. They picked their cards, and the hand they drew from Death’s grasp was that of a merciful and quick death, what rarely anyone in the Commonwealth were granted when meeting someone with a vendetta.

In the hands of Pickman, no such consideration would have crossed him. He paced and stepped over the body on the floor. From the other side he slouched down and looked at the blood the seeped from her head. He reached down and traced his fingers in the blood. When he felt the coagulated blood, he gave a regretful whine.

From the moment they entered the hotel, Nora was all but speechless, all she could do was follow Pickman’s motions. The walked through calmly without greeting, for Henry was dead at the counter. They hadn’t seen any other raiders in the lobby, but as they investigated through each floor, now and then they would find a space occupied by one or two dead. They were ready for a fight, but their wasn't any threat left in the hotel. And now at the room that marked the final destination of their would-be victims, they came upon a scene that gave them mixed feelings.

When he stood up, she followed and awaited his proper reaction. All that was evident on his face was disappointment. Pickman dragged his fingers across a wall and then groaned.

“Such waste.” He stated. Nora’s lips curled in with slight worry as she looked over at Pickman, hopeful to break his trance. Pickman returned her gaze and all but shrugged.

“Was this your friend’s handiwork?” Nora watched Pickman and feared that he would finally release some sort of anger at her, but it never came. Instead he held that all too familiar lifeless gaze; she shook her head in response.

“Deacon wouldn’t go out of his way for _this_.”

Pickman walked over to the couch across from the bloodied scene and sat down. He bent his head forward and rested his face in his palms. Nora waited patiently until the sound of his laughter had her shaken.

“Such is the life of a raider.” He still sounded upset but he gave a sigh of acceptance and motioned to Nora for them to take their leave.

Nora gave a last look at the scene while Pickman waited at the doorway.

The blonde was the only one to have suffered a shot point blank. The brunette and the young man were sprawled over the table, taking a shower of shots to their bodies. She turned and gave another turn of the door handle for her confirmation; there was no force of entry. Someone was invited in, or rather they answered and was given their last surprise.

Nora was about to make her exit when Pickman blocked the door. He quietly brushed passed her and returned to the table in the room. When Pickman came back, he had retrieved his old machete and revolver.

“Well, at least I got these back.” His tone remained without amusement.

With that they made their exit of the hotel. The sun was still bright and burning, and both companions shielded their eyes in response. Nora reached in the deep sets of her pockets of her coat and brought out a pair of sunglasses. When she looked over to Pickman, he had done the same thing. 

He appeared even less threatening now. His typical look with a clean cut suit had been replaced by a salvaged worn leather jacket, some jeans and a loose t-shirt. And now with the sunglasses, he was coming across like a biker back in the pre-war days. A giggle escaped Nora and she couldn’t help that perky expression of amusement.

“What did I do now?” Pickman was also entertained at her sudden change in mood; the corner of his mouth had curled up and he was holding back his own need to laugh at how red her face had turned.

“You got an interesting look going. All you need now is a pompadour.”

“Oh yeah? Are these the kind of men you like?” Pickman teased as he caught his reflection in her sunglasses.

Nora didn’t answer but continued her smug laughter. She then turned around and delayed their leave.

“I should probably at least scrounge up any caps in there; at least compensate Deacon for his time.”

“I’ll keep watch.” Pickman’s aura had changed. It seemed like he was rather appreciative of having a moment to himself, a moment to really sort through the utter let down of this trip.

Nora went back in, her eyes set on the counter where she figured a safe was stored. And she was successful at the start as Henry’s pockets were already filled with money.

When Nora finished filling her own pockets, she crouched down to uncover the safe on the floor. And as she struggled to work the lock open, she suddenly felt a foreign presence behind her.

Nora whipped around with her hand ready by her pistol, and the person she found did not move a single inch. Instead, they stood at attention, but their expression was completely relaxed.

“Shit...”

***

With the machete in hand, Pickman dug sketches into the dirt at his feet, revealing his ideas for the corpses inside. And he had longed for the chance to finally work with something fresh. The end of this journey had his heart pounding with anticipation. He was devoted to the cause; the need for revenge, but more than anything, it was purely a need to express what he had fought to keep under control while in the presence of his Killer.

And he had often asked himself _why_? He couldn’t quite contemplate exactly why he felt the need to hold back, and when they worked together to end any threat that had come their way during their journey, he was so hungry for that opportunity to lash out and expose everything of his victims. He wanted to break them, and he so desperately wanted their songs of wailing and tortured pleas to complement his work. Instead, he would walk away with his Killer, and he would look back longingly at the bodies.

For now, he could conclude that that he just didn’t want her to feel like he was a burden. He didn’t want to have to always try and keep up, especially earlier in their trip when his wounds were fresh and the pain was still nauseatingly intense. He tried his best to deny the fact that he would rather not see her terrified face, like the one she had given him when she had suspected he was following her out of ill intent.

 _I guess that’s it then_ …

He just didn’t want to push her away-not yet, anyway. He still had much to learn about her.

Being devoted to his Killer, to take in everything she had to offer, that in itself was a challenge worth overcoming. He never in his life experienced having to bite back his words as he discovered some of her aggravating habits.

One thing she loves is bubblegum, and the constant sound of her bubble popping was enough for him to secretly hide any packs he would come across; he just wanted to pass the time without hearing the irritating sound of pops and smacks.

And then there were those moments where she would stop and converse with anyone and everyone. He wanted nothing more than to continue to the task on hand, but she needed to hear everyone’s story, to bask in their glory and to learn from their mistakes. And Christ, how much worse it was if those people had jokes to share with her, and no matter the joke, she would give such a loud and squeaky laugh. The first time he heard such a laugh, his jaw dropped in shock and even the person who told the joke was startled over getting such a reaction.

Then there was her habit of needing to converse when they had already shared in their goodnights.  _Hey you awake? I think I just heard something. You think it’s a deathclaw? Oh my god, my neck is killing me._ On and on she would go, and Pickman had played with the idea of getting drunk enough to black out and take to his slumber in blissful peace.

And on this day, Pickman had found his top pick of habits that irritated him, and it was the one where she often showed relief when there wasn’t a fight to be had.

He saw it in her face when they were just in the hotel. He could see how relaxed and composed she became once she knew they had nothing left to accomplish save for making their exit. He desperately wanted to bring back that woman who was showered in that crimson that complemented her so well.

But Pickman suddenly thought of her recent comment, and he took another glance at his outfit. When he felt the smile weigh heavily on his cheeks, he couldn’t help but let the list of annoyances disappear into the back of his mind. But realizing how much time she was taking, had him shaking his head.

Pickman made his entrance once again. He walked into the lobby and found that she was not there. There were only a couple of rooms on the first floor to check, but when he did, she of course was not present. And so he marched up the stairs in his continued search.

Room after room, he would open patiently and expectantly. And as the rooms continued to only occupy lifeless bodies, his motions transitioned.

He flung doors open, he called out her name into the hallways, but she did not give an answer. When he made it to the last room, he felt the sweat on his palms as he pushed passed the last door. She was gone.

The hallway suddenly became heavy with the heat; his mind raced and he felt a painful pounding at his temples. His fingers curled into his palms, and he dug his nails into his skin until he felt liquid seep between his fingers.

“Nora! Please…”

He couldn’t help but double check every area he could come in contact with. The third floor was clear of life, and then he was completely frantic when he searched the second floor once again. When he made it into the room that remained a tomb to his attackers, he suddenly realized something was off.

Two of the three bodies remained. Pickman spared no time to waste and brought out his revolver, knowing it would serve as a quick threat; he needed to find her.

Pickman no longer called for her, he only kept to his sprint as he traveled down the stairs.

There he was, crawling down the steps leaving a trail of blood in his path. The young man had some life left in him, but Pickman would see that his last moments would be anguish. When he reached him, he yanked his hair back and pressed the gun to his head.

“You’ve ten seconds to tell me where she is. Any second longer and I’ll crucify you.” Pickman had whispered the threats but the venom in his words had caused the young man to cry, his words gargling with blood.

“No, please! I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Seven.”

“Fuck, man. I DON’T KNOW.”

“FIVE.”

“MAYBE IT WAS THE ASSHOLE WHO SHOT ME OKAY? I DON’T FUCKING KNOW, PLEASE.”

“Three.”

“Look, if you can stimpak me or something, _I can help you_. I know what he looks like-”

Suddenly, Pickman reached into his own bag and brought out a precious stimpak and without warning, pierced the young man’s flesh.

“FUCKING HELL-”

Pickman reached out and yanked at his hair again and noticed a little embroidery in the lining of his jacket.

“That will only prolong the minutes you have, _Jordan_. If you want to live, your information better help, or-”

“- _I can help_.”

Pickman was completely desperate. He brought out another stimpak and jabbed it once again without warning. Much more work would be needed to heal this survivor, but for now, it was enough for him to stand and talk; to serve his only purpose.

When the Jordan was able to move without collapsing, he took in a deep breath before chiming in with his own question.

“Who the hell are you anyway?”

“You mean to tell me your friends never told you about me?” Pickman was just on the brink of taking out his anger with his machete.

Pickman watched as the Jordan studied him, until he finally saw his bandaged hand.

“Just my fucking luck,” was all he could say.

“I suggest you don’t waste my time, or I will do to you what I was planning on doing to your friends.”

“Fuck you.” Jordan cried out as he felt the burden of watching Jessica and Nance fall prey to the man who came to their room.

“Better start making yourself useful.”

“Jesus…Look the guy was a professional. I think he was a merc, but he was too clean. His clothes look like something out of a fucking comic...”

Pickman sighed as he gave a little hint with a glance at his gun.

“Well…” Jordan took the warning and rushed through his story; he expressed how quick everything occurred, how easily it came to the assassin. But any detail he did recall, from the all too familiar emotionless state that Pickman related to, to the uniqueness of the suit, everything had come down to one word he didn’t want to bring any truth to. The rumors weren’t as plentiful as the stories of kidnappings, but the thought of something so powerful setting their sights on Nora…Pickman couldn’t allow himself to imagine the possibility.

He didn’t want to accept the fact that this man’s tale pointed to a damned _courser_.


	9. Chapter 9

A flash of ivory burned her vision. After a few blinks and a gasp for air, Nora was able to see a figure form before her. In her confusion, the sudden but all too familiar fit of nausea came to her without warning, but she fought back and whispered a quiet mantra to herself. She tried to comfort herself with soft spoken words of how familiar this moment should be; about how just one more trip will eventually ease her transition, and she will no longer have to feel sick. But she had been away for too long; she had been away from _him_ for too long. And now the time she had tried to extend had come to a halt, and patience was no longer a virtue for the aged man who called himself both a father and a son.

Nora peered ahead and watched as X6-88 kept his gaze on her, seemingly disinterested in her sickness, but rather focused on getting her to the marked destination.

“Father has requested-“

“I can’t right now.” Nora interrupted. The heavy grumbling and aching tenseness in her stomach had not yet settled, and so she hardly felt prepared to listen to any of his demands. Even so, Nora felt guilty for snapping at X6-88 in such a manner, and although she figured he wouldn’t care for it, she apologized anyways. As expected, X6-88 didn’t reveal any emotion outside of impatience.

“If you’re unwell, allow me to take you to the lavatory, but I do insist we visit Father quickly afterward. He’s been asking for you, but you have not made any efforts at contact.”

And there it was. Nora could hear that anger laced response from this Courser who tried his best not to show any emotion that would betray that cool and collected composure. Nora gave a small laugh in response.

“You’re right, I haven’t made any efforts, but that is because I do business how I see fit. I am in control of my schedule and I prioritize what I want without interventions from _anyone_.” Nora crossed her arms and glared at him. She had planned to see most missions completed without intervention, but clearly nothing was stopping X6.

“I don’t see how anything takes precedence over the Institute.” X6 crossed his arms as if to challenge Nora and stared down at her defiantly. 

No luck there. Nora hadn’t found anything that would allow her to connect with him. The first time they met was almost a disaster, and obviously in due part to her absence, she wasn’t sure if she would ever find in him any amiable qualities. Regardless, Nora knew he didn’t take that much of a liking to her.

“If I had a cap for every time someone tried to pull me away from my tasks...well I’d have a few at least.” Nora tried to joke, but was met with that blank expression, and this time it was accompanied by a shake of his head as he finally relinquished an annoyed sigh.

Nora stood up and attempted to take a few steps towards the Courser, but her legs were weak and trembled with each step. But with each working motion of her carefully placed steps, she felt that strength return, and she soon found herself a few inches from X6.

“Now before I speak to him, I want something answered.”

X6 arched an eyebrow and waited for her to ask.

“Are you responsible for all that slaughter, back at the hotel?”

“Is that not what you intended to do anyways?”

“Something like that... still, you just kidnapped me without so much as a-”

She struggled to piece together exactly what she wanted to say, but in the end it was simple and to the point.

“You left my friend stranded and with no back-up.”

“I doubt he will come across any trouble; he is not without skills. I’ve found myself using his methods before; very efficient.”

Nora brought her fingers to the bridge of her nose and pinched as she closed her eyes, attempting to calm herself.

“I should have known he would send you to spy on me.” X6 gave a unique shrug of his shoulders. 

“I was ordered to do so. But now my orders have changed, and Father has become tired of waiting for you. Now if you are ready, I must escort you to him.”

“I know where he is.”

“ _You_ have not proven yourself as an ally to the Institute, yet. Therefore I am to accompany you.”

Nora groaned and stayed in place as X6 began marching away, but the second he glanced over his shoulder at her, possibly glaring behind those shades he always wore, Nora threw her hands up in defeat and followed. Just as X6 exclaimed, Pickman was capable, but she couldn’t help but worry. She wasn’t even allowed a moment to call out to him, or to at least leave a note. But for a man like Pickman, she was confident that he wouldn’t settle for something as odd as a note after her disappearance. And the end result was that he had nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but I honestly felt more comfortable separating it from the second half. Future submissions will cover more Nora, X6-88, and Shaun; but either way we will soon be back with Pickman soon. Thank you so much for reading.
> 
> Edit: Just wanted to state that my schedule continues to be weird due to work, and so in the case that you are trying to check on updates, I apologize for constantly taking too long.


	10. Chapter 10

Pickman took a quick chug of his water as he kept watch over Jordan, who was fast asleep.

Jordan was alive for now, but the young man didn’t know how much longer luck would be shielding him. And Pickman knew that Jordan was worried, for the kid had slept comfortably _only_ because of the weapon he kept tucked away under the pack that was currently substituting as a pillow.

Pickman suspected he knew the kind of person Jordan was, and had this moment taken place a few months prior, way before his commitment to his companion, he would have stalked this sort of prey just as any. Instead he saved his life- well, he extended it. They had little time left, but Diamond City was not far from their reach and was the reasonable destination for Jordan to receive proper medical attention.

With the blade he had practiced with, he couldn’t contain his aggravation, and Pickman stuck the blade into the dirt and left it there. The crunch of sand under steel was enough to wake Jordan, who quickly reached under his pack and pointed his pistol at Pickman.

“Christ.” Jordan replaced his gun once he realized that Pickman was just keeping himself amused.

“Can we keep those ‘creepy habits’ to a minimum please?” Jordan grunted before laying back down.

Pickman retrieved his blade and stuck it to the ground once again with more force, all while challenging Jordan with the intensity of his stare.

“Fine.” Jordan resorted to closing his eyes and did his best to ignore Pickman.

Pickman, more than anything, was frustrated with having this kid around, but he knew that the information he gave him was at least of some sort of value. Jordan knew what the Courser looked like, and that was only if they had a chance of staying alive long enough to confirm their appearance.

“You’re damn lucky.” Pickman grunted. A statement that was not expressed for the first time. Jordan had been constantly reminded of this sort of twisted generosity he had been granted. But what Pickman kept to himself was the fact that Jordan was not the one who personally wronged him. At this point, revenge- his stolen revenge, took a step back; finding his companion was worth more.

Even so, Pickman wondered if he should have just left the youth to die? After all he had sufficient information. Most importantly, it would have granted him a head start.

“How do you know she’s alive?” Jordan kept his eyes closed, but was patiently waiting for an answer, if he could get one.

“Did you see a body?” Pickman shot back.

“Do Coursers _leave_ bodies?” Jordan opened one eye and gave a huff.

Pickman kept his eyes on Jordan, searching for a proper response, until he felt himself collapse, turning away and preparing for sleep.

Jordan figured Pickman would ignore him. Most of their conversations hardly bared any true weight to them, always limited and curt. To his surprise however, Jordan got an answer.

“I don’t know.” Pickman wrapped his coat around him like a blanket and submitted to his dreams.

Jordan laid there, contemplating. He felt almost confused because for the first time he heard a quiver in Pickman’s words, one that betrayed him and exposed his fear. The man who lived his life soaked in death, was now showing signs of his concern; scared that his friend had finally met her fate. Jordan hoped that she was dead. He couldn’t stand the thought of Pickman being happy with her when his two best friends were rotting away.

***

Splashes of orange and red spilled through the sky. A captivating sunrise to welcome the two dark figures approaching the fortified gates of Diamond City.

The guard on duty would have felt better turning them away like any wandering stranger that attempted entry. However, the heavy pockets he now bore, were not weighty with burden, but fulfilling with opportunity. The two strangers had paid handsomely and were rewarded with entry into the city.

“About damn time.” Jordan exclaimed. He was a bit breathless and had reluctantly took to balancing himself against Pickman, who although displeased was still willing to help.

A few guards would survey the new guests but wouldn’t stop to interrogate them, to which Jordan was grateful for.

When they found their way to what they assumed was a simple clinic, there wasn’t anyone in sight to aid them. They confirmed the name of this clinic to be the Mega Surgery Center, and they both grew rather hopeful at the sight of such a reputable looking business. The space, like the other shops, was open to the public but any equipment available were limited and more than likely the doctor or doctors had stored away any valuable items and medication.

No matter, Pickman thought, doctor or not, Jordan had made it this far on limited supplies, and so he doubted that any true threat to his life remained, that was unless there was an infection, but Pickman worked incredibly hard to prevent one from developing.

And they had made it, and both were rather calm about the situation. Knowing that the town was inactive with slumber, it seemed they would have to make due to wait until the sun fully rose and would signal the community to rise and get to work.

Even so, Pickman expected the doctor should be nearby in case of emergencies.

“How about you wait here while I ask around for the doc?”

“Not much I can do anyway.” But Jordan peeked over where he noticed a hatch to what he suspected was a cellar.

“Is that blood?” Jordan gave a tired huff and then his face scrunched up in disgust as a peculiar smell hit him.

“Aren’t these people supposed to be more professional and clean?”

“Really? You’re worried about cleanliness?”

“Well, we’re supposed to pay these assholes. If they are going to do a shit job, than I’d rather just settle with your handiwork since it’ll be the same result.”

Pickman scanned the blood under the dim light, but was soon furrowing his brows as he noticed it as a trail that led into the cellar.

“Looks like my handiwork for sure.” Pickman walked over to analyze it further. In his observation he discovered that the blood was rather fresh.

“Looks like the doctor is working.”

Jordan dragged himself over to Pickman's side and slouched down. He began to pound his fist on the hatch, anticipating a response, but it never came. He then began knocking again, demanding that he see the ‘doc.’ Pickman rolled his eyes as Jordan went on about how he was dying and needed help. But as the silence continued, Jordan was ready to give up and demanded that Pickman go and search for the doctor’s house.

Suddenly, a soft and foreign noise reached them. Although faint, they were at least able to understand that it had come from the cellar.

“Must be a patient.”

“In the cellar?” Pickman observed as he pointed out the more than suitable beds positioned in the open center.

“So what? Maybe he’s operating.” Jordan asked but adverted Pickman’s eyes and went back to the sloppy work of the doctor, who left the evidence of his carelessness on the floor before them.

“Jesus, fine.” Jordan crouched down once again, grimacing as a shot of pain invaded his body from his injuries.

“Let me.” Pickman took over and observed the lock. It was an easy target, or so he hoped, but it definitely seemed worth the try. And so Pickman began working the lock. It had proven to be difficult and knew more than likely that Nora would have done it in a much shorter time. Still, he was able to hear that successful clicking sound that welcomed them into the cellar.

Immediately a familiar stench of iron filled their nostrils but neither person flinched at the sudden invasion. Instead, they worked their way down the steps and did their best to adjust their eyes to the dim lighting.

The room had beckoned them inside with soft candle lighting. There was ruckus as they kicked aside bottles and other bits of litter. Soon those noises were replaced by the slippery liquid that now painted the soles of their boots.

They finally reached the source of the blood, and found a body butchered and exposed. For Jordan, the experience was something he long ago grew numb to.

Pickman was amazed at the display, and rather appreciated how unintentional it seemed. Pickman always made sure everything had a purpose with his art. But witnessing this carnage before him, he knew that this was not a true surgery, and it was not intentional either. This careless scene had unfolded before Pickman, who was now eager. He needed to find the one responsible.

“What the-” Jordan jumped back in shock as he noticed a crouched figure in the corner of the cellar.

“I can fix it. I can fix it.” A deep voice repeated over and over until the chanting changed into laughter. He was mad and Pickman had found himself in a most opportune moment.

“What do we have here?” Pickman grinned and crouched down beside the guilty party. The man finally took notice of the intruders and scurried into the corner, as if there was room left to spare.

“I was only trying to help.” The man seemed to beg, but Pickman wasn’t listening. He watched the way the brownish-red of blood on the man’s clothes didn’t suit him. He saw the vibrations of the man’s panic, and he couldn’t help but feel disgust for him.

With such a simple sentence, Pickman knew that whoever the corpse used to be, it was an innocent who had indebted their trust to such inexperienced hands.

A clanking noise distracted the crouched man and Pickman, and they turned to spot Jordan kicking at some rubbish; he was keen on displaying his impatience.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” The man’s panicked voice had become threatening. Pickman didn’t falter for a moment, he only gave an astonished whistle and confronted the doctor.

“I think you have a lot more to worry about than a couple of trespassers.”

As if to plea, the doctor turned to Jordan for aid, who was now keeping his balance by leaning against the wall.

“This was not supposed to happen. Earl was supposed to be a good patient, but he was troublesome and I just-” He grew incredibly quiet.

“I know what to do.” The doctor had made up his mind and shuffled through some of the garbage on the floor until he was able to find the very thing he needed. Once Pickman realized what the doctor was doing, he reached out and stole the psycho from the man’s pale hands.

Pickman gave a menacing round of tisks and circled the doctor.

“Now, now, I don’t believe that this is enough for you. You see, how is it that you get to decide on such a clean death, when poor- Earl was it? Poor Earl here is without recognition. And who am I to let you just end it here and now, so quickly?”

“ 'Who are you?’ is indeed a good question. But most importantly, who the hell are you to judge me how you see fit?” The doctor was shouting but Pickman did not wince. He kept on smiling and circling around. Jordan was rather dizzy watching the scene unfold.

“I would say that I am the man who will see to it that you do some good in this world, even after your death. But who am I kidding? I’m more interested in providing entertainment for myself whilst ridding the world of a fool like yourself.”

“You don’t understand, it was all a mistake! I drive for perfection. I yearn for the fame of my work. You can’t just frame what I do. They are living pieces of art and I am their creator!”

Jordan released a painful cough before intervening.       

“Can we at least, for the love of god, get him to patch me up properly before you do your nasty shit to him?”

“A raider like yourself has no room to act like what you do is any better.” Pickman concluded with Jordan, and proceeded to unsheathe his machete.

The doctor who was eager to end it all, had now a bit of fight in him. His pride fueled him and so he lunged at Pickman desperately who stood defensively and armed.

Jordan gasped in amazement at the doctor’s courage, but suspected that the end result would end in more bloodshed. When he turned to observe Pickman’s response, he was not without shock as he witnessed the man change his mind and dropped his weapon, raising his hands into fists.

Still bandaged and healing, Pickman didn’t shed a single bead of sweat. He was more than ready for this challenge. He still yearned to take his anger out on someone. The doctor was a perfect pick, and one that he was glad did not result in drawing guns. Pickman needed to feel the heat on his bare knuckles, and the sting in his right hand.

With a wicked laugh, Pickman struck first. The doctor took the hit to his chin rather well, and then proceeded to land his own punches into Pickman’s body. Pickman fought for his breath before blocking another shot, and followed through with knee to the body. After several exchanges, Pickman quickly learned that the doctor had some technique; as always Pickman was reminded to never underestimate the people of the Commonwealth. And for a brief second he wondered how Nora would have handled the situation, but it was just one precious second he committed before his distraction allowed a blow to his face.

He felt his lip burn and ooze, but it was a satisfying feeling. From the background he heard Jordan yell, absolutely energized over the free show he was getting. Pickman pushed those distractions back and finally tackled the man, taking him down to the ground. Every hit flowed effortlessly, and he seized any opportunity to throw in some elbow strikes. Pickman could hardly process the pleas of the man under him, he only continued to strike down with all his might, the wall of what little tolerance he had left came crumbling down.

Pickman could see the doctor fading from consciousness, but he paid it no mind. Even the subtle sigh of disbelief that Jordan released did not encourage Pickman to stop. The only thing that stopped him was the sound of a hatch door opening, and cautious footsteps.

“Hello?” A mysterious voice called out. Pickman, out of breath but still maddened with violence, stood up and wiped at his bloodied nose.

Jordan remained quiet and looked to Pickman, expecting some sort of call to action, but Pickman only stood like a statue and awaited the new stranger.

“Who the hell are you people? You bloody thieves-” The man had pointed a finger in accusation but it quickly trembled as his eyes inspected the scene.

Inevitably he coward at the sight of death and ran out crying out for the guards. Jordan didn’t have the strength to run after the man himself, but looked to Pickman expectantly.

“The hell are you waiting for?” He yelled.

“I suppose I’m waiting for those guards.” He said almost amused.

“Well then kill him before he does.” Jordan submitted to panic.

Pickman only gave his answer with crossed arms and the slow shake of his head.

“I don’t believe this.” Jordan threw his hands up and debated whether to just attempt escape or use violence. It wasn’t possible in his condition. And soon the guards rushed in, yelling commands and with rifles aimed and ready.

“ON YOUR KNEES.” They took the two men and escorted them from the center.

***

Pickman woke from his nap as he heard rustling in the cell next to him. It was a nap that only bought him about an hour of rest, but even so he felt a little more rejuvenated. To his surprise he saw the Jordan in the next cell was in the process of receiving proper medical treatment from the very man who had rushed for the guards in the first place, although reluctance was clearly painted on this doctor’s face.

Pickman hadn’t revealed his story to the guards. His resolve was enough for them to try and scare an answer from Jordan. To their annoyance, Jordan wasn’t speaking without getting treatment first.

While Jordan dealt with the new doctor’s work, Pickman eyed his surroundings slowly, until he stopped at a new figure that was emerging from the shadow of the entrance.

It was a tall figure in a long suit with a popped collar. His face was shielded by his hat as he took a drag from a cigarette. He was lean man, but Pickman realized that something was off about him. Although he suspected from the manner of walking, and the style of outfit, that he was soon to be talking to a detective.

As the man came into view, Pickman’s confusion had turned into clarity as he saw the exposed skeleton of the synthetic hand, and the beaming yellow glow of his eyes. The unnatural color was not unsettling, for his eyes held a curious gaze; very human.

The synth was near the cell, but quickly backtracked to grab a nearby chair to drag and sit on.

Now they were face to face and both men were studying each other. The detective finally broke the silence.

“Let me just start out with saying that the quicker we get all the facts, the quicker we can finish with this messy business.”

No response.

“Boys outside say that you and your partner made a couple of victims out of Doctor Crocker and Earl Sterling.”

Pickman gave a little hint of curiosity as he heard the names.

“Care to elaborate on what happened?”

“You’re the detective.”

“Sure, I’m the detective. And you’re the suspect. I don’t pride myself on assumptions, son. I like facts. But seeking facts does not mean that I’m going to deny anyone the chance to give their part in the tale.”

Pickman rested his head against the wall and was rather prideful in his silence. He couldn’t remember the last time he been exposed to this amount of conversation and encounters until this year. It was all thanks to her, whether by inconvenience or by opportunity, here he was talking to the authorities, all of whom he prided himself in avoiding all his life.

The detective watched quizzically for a moment and then leaned back into his chair, taking another long drag. The air was now foggy and the heavy scent of smoke made Pickman cough. The detective seemed amused at the sight, and proceeded to drop the cigarette butt and crushed it under his heel.

“Keeping quiet won’t help you in the long run, you know?”

Pickman had barely registered any of what the detective had said, and instead caught sight of a posting on the wall to his right. In big bold letters, the posting aimed to warn the community of missing children. Pickman’s pursed lips had suddenly dropped down to a frown and he was overcome by the urgency he had selfishly neglected as he was captured.

“We needed medical supplies. We saw blood leading to the cellar, and we just couldn’t help our curiosity considering we needed to find a doctor. It was there that I saw your fresh victim whining away about the mistake he had made. He botched up the surgery for this _Earl_ , and seeing as how he was the guilty party, I took care of him.”

The detective remained quiet, and worked his fingers under his hat to scratch at his head. Pickman interjected with one last fact.

“Although it doesn’t go without saying, he was more than willing to challenge me.”

“I gathered enough from the crime scene to deduce that you weren’t responsible for both victims.” The detective nodded and stood up.

“Why the questioning then?”

“Already said, didn’t I? Plus, in my old age, I need to account for all details, which I will have to get on paperwork from you and your partner. We’ll have to figure out what to do with you in the meantime, considering you did murder someone.”

Pickman gave a brief chuckle at the thought that for once someone was only pinning _one_ murder on him. He then turned to Jordan who was looking rather relaxed as his meds kicked in.

“I need to leave now.” His sounded upset.

“What’s the hurry now? Just a minute ago you were more than willing to play patient.”

“A kidnapping.” Pickman gave a slight nod to the posting to the right and continued. “And if we’re correct, it was a Courser who took her.”

The detective gave a huff and considered his options. He was settled on keeping the pair locked up until everything was clear; plus he hadn’t received word from the mayor regarding the situation. But he knew that this man was innocent of one murder, but he had yet to put together how much of a potential threat this person really held, considering how they took judgment into their own hands.

But as he saw this man repeatedly bow his head, as if in worry, and then at the poster, he just couldn’t deny that honesty in his voice when he spoke. He would at least try and hear the story of this kidnapping and figure if it was worth the time of day.

Suddenly a woman’s voice broke in the background, demanding entry to where the prisoners were being held. Pickman looked up in shock and was then shaking his head as he was growing irritated at the rasp in the woman’s voice.

The detective ignored the woman calling out to him.

“You got a picture? Another kid?”

“A woman.” Pickman corrected.

“I would have easily sketched one for you.” Pickman looked down at his right arm, and the detective realized the handicap.

“Well, this is also part of the job.” This was a lighthearted response, and the detective hurried in search of a pen and paper.

Through all the details, both the detective and Pickman did their best to ignore the constant requests of the woman in the background.

“Christ almighty, put a cork in it, lady!” Jordan woke from his nap and barked at the woman he couldn’t see.

“I’ll show you were I’m going to put that cork in.” The woman barked back from the entrance.

“I’d like to see you-” Their bickering continued, but still the detective was hard at work trying his best to put to paper what this man was painting with his words.

The detective felt rather regretful for not being able to use color so that he may do justice to Pickman’s description; he could tell that Pickman was in absolute awe over the woman in his mind.

But as the image was suddenly coming together, the detective’s heart was starting to beat faster, and he dreaded the next set of details he would have to draw.

The detective didn’t realize the sudden quick shuffling of feet at his side; and then a voice.

“ _Blue_?” The woman asked as she peeked over Nick Valentine’s shoulder and down at his sketch.


	11. Chapter 11

Piper Wright yanked the page from Valentine’s hand and cursed under her breath as a good portion was torn.

“What happened to Nora, Nick?” Piper looked to the detective who could only stare at the remaining image.

“What’s going on? I heard a rumor involving murder, and now here she is…” Piper looked to the two captives at first but soon returned her attention to Nick, her eyes glaring as the anger now rose with the pitch of her voice.

Nick did not respond. He reached into his coat and retrieved another cigarette, lighting it with a slight tremble in his hands. And as Piper was about to demand answers, he held out a finger to her.

Piper would have taken offence, however she saw the detective's eyes, and they frightened her to the core.

Seeing that worried expression, one that was so rare from the usual collected demeanor she was used to, even when she was demanding interviews over local cases from him- well, she was simply taken aback.

She remained quiet and waited.

Nick neatly folded the remaining image and secured it away in his inner coat pocket, all while gathering his thoughts; his next line of questions for the strangers.

“When did you last see her?”

“A week ago.”

“Tell me everything: where she was last seen, what she was doing, who she was with.” Valentine stood up and paced back and forth as he anticipated Pickman’s responses.

Piper never enjoyed reporting missing children, however the thought of her friend being a new victim of the Institute’s was too much to handle. She didn’t write a single fact, even though she very well knew it would prove useful. She soon snapped out of it and desperately jotted down everything this stranger was saying; trying to catch up as he continued on.

Nick burned through his cigarette and released it from his grasp, but he didn’t say anything, instead Piper chimed in.

“You’re telling us, not a _single_ person in your travels has been able to identify them? Nora would have bloodied that guy’s face, there’s no way she would be hauled off without so much as a ‘ _fuck you_!’”

“You know very well that these disappearances end up as cold trails, Piper.” Nick was careful not to raise his voice.

" _Blue_ said she would die for her kid, and you know this.” Piper nearly jabbed a finger against Valentine’s chest. “None of the parents of the missing children have kept quiet, and Nora was the same, and she would be damned to hell if she would let _anyone_ get away from her once she’s tasted blood. Hell, you sure _she didn’t kidnap him_?”

As he watched this woman frantically release her thoughts to the group, Pickman felt a slight jolt of confusion. Nora never mentioned a child. She mentioned her husband, but a kid? Why hadn’t she mentioned them to Pickman? Was she still afraid of him? Was she afraid of having Pickman around her child? Of course she would be, he couldn’t blame her. He suddenly felt drained of energy as he realized he still appeared as a threat to Nora.

“That’s enough.” Nick’s patience had run its course but he knew Piper was right. Nora would put up a fight.

“It seems Nora failed to mention to the three of you that she herself has killed a Courser.”

With a quiet note of surprise, Jordan broke through with a “ _three_?” completely baffled at the thought of being thrown in with the Shroud’s fan base. Nick turned to him briefly but ignored him.

As Nick looked around the room, he noted the sudden change in tension. Pickman brought his fingers up to the bridge of his nose and began pressing his fingers hard against his skin. _Of course she did_. He concluded.

“Run that by me again.” Piper said with a bit of excitement in her voice.

“Nora has held her own against them before, I know this because _I was there_.”

“You and Blue? You guys took down one those things?”

“We did and it was not something either of us want to go through again. But if need be, and if she was in fact taken by one, Nora better than most, would have an idea on how to handle herself. So this brings me to you, again.” Nick pointed to Pickman and approached him.

“Nora is a shoot first, ask questions later type of gal. So I’m asking you now…what aren’t you telling me?”

“He’s a serial killer.” Jordan interrupted.

Both Piper and Nick grimaced as those words reached their ears. They remained quiet and gave Jordan the time to speak. Pickman followed the other two, and waited for his accuser to continue.

“You saw what he did in that cellar, right? But let me tell ya, he’s capable of worse, and has done so. You two are going on about the Shroud but I’d say ‘look no further, the bastard’s right here.’ He probably has her displayed in a shed somewhere. A shrine with her head perched on top of his offerings of assorted limbs. That’s what he does.” Jordan grinned maliciously and continued with his theatrics as he now had the audience in his grasp.

“You three…” He chuckled as he repeated Nick’s words, and then held a spiteful gaze towards Pickman.

“You know why I’m here, detective? I was with my friends, the ones responsible for almost putting a stop to this man’s sadistic hobby. And as soon as I thought we were home free, we get some bullets.” Jordan made a gesture of a trigger towards Nick and then raised his sleeve to reveal one of the freshly bandaged wounds.

“Nick.” Piper looked to Valentine, giving a careful gaze at the weapon he had tucked away, and then she gave a tilt of her head towards Pickman. Nick frowned at her and slightly shook his head as he continued to listen. However his gaze was now permanently fixed on Pickman.

“Rumor has it that those two had something going between them. But I’d say that this bastard was biding his time. Luring his prey in a new way. Shroud clearly has many, many friends-” He gestured to Nick and Piper. “-So what’s one more to aid in her cause?”

Jordan smirked at Pickman again and then continued.

“I’d say he finally found his shot, and picked her flesh clean from her bones. After all, there is no sign of her right?” He began to laugh nervously. “I’d say with absolute certainty that this man you have right here, is guilty of taking away your friend…I’d say it…but.” Jordan became quiet.

“This man is a cold as it comes when he has his sights on you. But the simple truth is…I was _not_ shot by Shroud or _Picasso_ here. The man that came in our room was not him and we didn’t have time to react; there was no way with someone so impossibly fast.”

“What I wouldn’t give to see you buried, to finish what Jess and Nance started-” Jordan glared at Pickman who gave no hint to what he was feeling. Jordan slammed his fists into the ground. “-Except that the man guilty of killing them is still out there. I couldn’t care less for that nuisance Shroud, but if you have a way of finding that stealthy piece of shit, then you’re going to need me. I know what he looks like. This crazy lunatic here can fight, and I’m going to assume you two can do the same. So how about we stop wasting time and get the bastard who murdered my friends?”

Nick removed his gaze from Pickman and turned to Jordan who was now waiting for some sort of reaction.

“It’s true.” It was all Pickman could say. Nick gave a sort of scowl in response and then turned to Jordan once again.

 _So that’s why you two are here. A common enemy_. Nick realized.

“Is it all true?” Piper asked. Pickman looked up at her and saw how visibly shaken she was. Pickman knew what she was asking. She wanted, and he suspected the detective would want to know too, if he himself had lured Nora into a web of manipulation.

“No.” Pickman shook his head and then gestured to his bag on a small table nearby, in which the pair’s contents had been laid out after the guards locked them up.

“That journal there.” Pickman pointed. Piper walked over cautiously with Nick at her side.

“Those loose sheets in there…I did not draw those.”

Piper went through the drawings of lilacs and a very familiar companion. Eventually she came across one page that held her attention.

As Pickman took a peek, he confirmed that page he wanted Piper to see. It was tied to a fresh memory.

_Pickman was sitting alone as he took count of their supplies. Sitting across from him was Nora, dividing up the goods she had found. He couldn’t help but be nosy as he noticed how she packaged the goods in small bags. There were intended as gifts._

_She had mentioned before that Preston valued the garden over most things at Sanctuary. Various herbs and seeds were packaged generously for her friend, someone he imagined to be rather admirable if he was able to earn the respect of someone like Nora._

_Then came another bag filled with a few toys for Dogmeat. Seeing how incredibly serious she looked as she fussed with which items were of the best quality for her cute companion, caused Pickman to release a gentle laugh._

_“What’d I miss?” Nora looked across at him and gave a little smile._

_“Just wondering when I’ll start to find those faults of yours.”_

_“My faults?”_

_“You do so much for your friends, and even strangers. Is your worst quality really how overly helpful you are?”_

_“I would list hunting people down to be one, but you know…” Nora shrugged and Pickman gave a teasing glare as he wasn’t sure if Nora was trying to make a jab at him._

_Nora huffed at some pair of new sunglasses she found. She noticed they were slightly damaged and stated how they would be of no use to Deacon, and so she discarded the pair without a second thought. She then turned her attention to a figurine intended for Codsworth._

_“Yes, yes, I’m a terrible person for not empathizing with the men and women who find it amusing to torture families.” Pickman shrugged, and for some odd reason expected Nora to take it as a joke._

_“Right.” Nora stated rather seriously. Pickman’s expression had become stoic._

_“I do understand the big picture Pickman. I may not agree with the extremities of your work, and I don’t intend to try and change you, nor do I expect you to hold back…around me.”_

_Pickman listened but didn’t feel convinced, and Nora could tell._

_Nora sighed and then reached in her coat. She stood up and walked over to Pickman and opened up his left hand, palm facing up. She placed an oddly wrapped package on his palm, which fit comfortably in his grasp._

_“I’m going to patrol for a bit.” Nora gave a genuine smile and went on her business._

_Pickman sat utterly confused. After much consideration he finally opened it._

_The piece of paper revealed to be protecting a necklace._

_And to Pickman’s surprise, the paper itself had a message._

**_Richard,_ **

**_Grams gave me one as a child, she said it was lucky. It’s lost to me now, but I had found this similar piece awhile back. Of course you have more than enough luck with me watching your six, but I figured it would suit you.  –Nora_ **

_Pickman took a look around to make sure the area was secure before finding Nora._

_“What is it?”  Pickman held up the mineral._

_“It’s turquoise.” Nora smirked as she looked through her binoculars._

_Pickman was lost in thought as he kept pace with Nora, who patiently patrolled and waited for his next comment._

_“Thank you.”_

_“Do you really like it?” When Nora looked to him, she appeared a little self-conscious._

_“Very much.” He said pleasantly. And with that Pickman retreated back to their camping spot._

“So what are we supposed to make of this?” Piper turned to Pickman, Nick remained silent.

“Well, it seems I haven’t properly introduced myself. My name is _Richard_ Pickman. And now that you’ve read that little note there, then I’d like to think you now have some sort of hint to the nature of my relationship with Nora.”

“A word.” Nick said sternly to Piper. Soon the detective and the reporter left the area and talked in privacy.

“I wonder how long we’ll be here. You think they have the death penalty in Diamond City?” Jordan looked over to Pickman, and for the first time in front of Jordan, although brief, Pickman gave a laugh at the thought.

“Is it safe to assume that you are no longer afraid of me, Jordan?”

“Don’t think so highly of yourself.” Jordan shot back.

"By the way you could have saved some time without the serial killer part." Jordan huffed and spat. 

"They need to know anyways."

“I’m curious as to your intentions. Why not continue pinning everything on me? Why take away the chance to put me down?”

Jordan stayed quiet and ignored Pickman.

Regardless, Nick and Piper made their appearance again.

“Do I really need to explain what will happen if either of you step anywhere out of line? We have wasted enough time.” Nick walked over and unlocked the gate for both men.

“Nick might not have the patience to explain, but I do. I will not lose sleep over taking out your eyes should you guys make one wrong move.”

Jordan kept silent for once and nodded, but his blood shot eyes gave hint to his need for sleep. Pickman on the other hand decided to interject.

“I have but one request.”

“Oh no you don’t” Nick protested.

In response Pickman remained quiet. Nick led them to their belongings and surprisingly let them retrieve their weapons.

However, as the group began to make their exit, a seemingly relaxed guard sitting by the entrance looked up with a bit of confusion.

“It really won’t take a minute.” Pickman insisted as he suddenly whipped the guard across the face with his revolver.

“You broke my nose you son of-HEY WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

An audible _oh shit_ escaped Jordan as he gave a howl of a laugh. Piper and Nick had their weapons ready but soon noticed Pickman retrieve something quickly from the guard’s pocket.

“You weren’t here when they sorted through and 'confiscated' some of our valuables, detective.” Pickman revealed a necklace.

He held the turquoise in his palm before finally placing his first and only gift around his neck.


End file.
